With Clipped Wings
by Eledhwen
Summary: Jack Sparrow has been marooned. Now he must begin to rebuild his life, away from the Black Pearl. Chapter 25: A sighting on the horizon leads Jack back to Tortuga, where he borrows a boat. NOW COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:** the characters and places you recognise are not mine, they belong to Disney and Jerry Bruckheimer and other such folk.  
  
**Author's note:** And so it begins, again. We last saw Jack Sparrow marooned on his desert island, the _Black Pearl_ sailing away into the distance. We pick up his tale there, as he embarks on ten years without his ship - with clipped wings. As ever, critique and comments much appreciated._   
  
----  
  
Jack Sparrow sat gazing out to sea, the salt drying on his hair, long after the black sails had disappeared beyond the horizon. Smears of dark kohl ran down his cheeks, and his sword belt lay disregarded on the sand by his side. The sun began to set, sending shafts of golden light across the water, and finally Jack moved.   
  
He stood, slowly, his limbs protesting, and turned his back to the ocean. The rational part of Jack's mind knew that he had to find some sort of shelter, or at the least build a fire, before night fell. But the rest of him - most of him - was a raging, empty hole. For nearly twenty years, the _Black Pearl_ had been a part of Jack Sparrow's life. She had been more than that. She had _been_ his life, his family, his home. And now, marooned on a tiny spit of sand in the Caribbean Sea, he faced a life without her. He refused to countenance the possibility of death, refused to contemplate using his single shot on himself. That shot was for the man who had sailed away with the _Pearl_.   
  
"You'll bloody well pay for this, Barbossa," Jack muttered to himself, as he headed towards the belt of palm trees that grew in the centre of the islet. "Should never have trusted the bastard," he went on, speaking aloud for the company of his own voice. "Must've been some other sailors in Tortuga I could have chosen. Must've been." He stomped extra hard with his booted foot as he spoke, out of anger and frustration, and paused. What had that sound been?   
  
Jack turned, and jumped experimentally. There it was again, a hollow echo.   
  
"Sand," he told himself, "does not sound like that."   
  
He walked up and down a small strip of ground, stamping. There was a good five yards of hollowness, where the sand felt bouncier under his feet.   
  
Jack dropped to his knees and began to push sand away, digging with his hands. His hair, stiff with salt, hung down and threatened to obscure his vision, and he pushed it away and kept digging.   
  
In less than a minute, he was rewarded with the sight of dark wooden planking, sand packed in the joins between planks. For the first time since that morning, when the sun had risen over the dark sails of the _Black Pearl_, Jack smiled. He pushed more sand away, and shortly found what he had been searching for - an iron ring set into the planks. Standing up, he bent over and pulled.   
  
The trapdoor, for that was what it was, opened quite easily, and Jack peered down into a dark hole in the ground. He sniffed. Something smelt good, enticing, rather like a Tortuga tavern. He took off his hat and laid it down on the ground before descending the wooden steps carefully. Enough light slanted down still into the hole to let him investigate quickly. There was flint and tinder, both dry, near the steps, and a bundle of tallow candles too, and soon Jack had a candle lit.   
  
He let out a low whistle, his eyes glimmering with pleasure in the flickering light. The walls of the hole were lined with rough shelves, and the shelves stocked with bottle after bottle of tawny liquid. Rum. Lots and lots of rum. On the floor there were barrels of the stuff. Jack took a bottle from a shelf, pulled the cork out with his teeth whilst holding the candle with his other hand, and drank.   
  
"Good rum, too," he commented.   
  
Putting the candle in a holder and leaving it on the floor, he took another couple of bottles and quickly climbed the steps to put them next to his hat. Another survey of the cellar revealed a couple of sandy blankets, and he brought those up too, along with the flint and tinder, before blowing out the candle, climbing out of the hole and closing the trapdoor.   
  
Dusk was falling swiftly now, the stars coming out overhead. Jack gathered some bits of driftwood and fallen palm leaves and made a small fire on the beach. Wrapping himself in the blankets, he picked up his first bottle of rum and swallowed another mouthful, the fiery sweetness rolling down his throat and into his stomach. He raised the bottle to the dark, distant horizon.   
  
"To you, my _Pearl_," he said, into the darkness. "I'll come and find you, soon as I can."   
  
And then, Jack Sparrow proceeded to get satisfyingly, mind-numbingly drunk.   
  
He spent most of the night and all the next day lying in a sozzled, languid stupor on the beach. He did not notice that his face and hands were burning in the sun, or that his stomach was empty of anything except alcohol. The rum erased most of his awareness of the world around him, and lessened the dull ache in his heart.   
  
During the second night, when the three bottles were all empty, sobriety returned. Jack's head was thumping when he finally woke and tried sitting up, and his face was smarting from sunburn. The fire had long since gone out, and it was cold.   
  
He picked up one of the discarded blankets and put it around his shoulders again. Wrapping his arms around his knees, Jack sat and gazed into the night.   
  
When morning came, he went back to the cellar in the ground and investigated it a little further. There were some salted fish and hard biscuits along with the rum, he found, and together with a fresh bottle of the latter he made a reasonable meal. But there was nothing else to help him escape from the island, and he spent the morning under a palm tree, leaning his head against the trunk and willing it to stop throbbing. He took out his pistol, too; the first time checking the single shot and the second time letting his thumb caress the safety catch. But he put it away without lifting it to his temple. That shot was not for him.   
  
Afternoon was two hours old by the sun when Jack saw the sails. They were grubby white canvas, and they were growing quickly larger as they came closer to the island. Soon he could see that the ship was a small, fast sloop with about ten men on deck, and she was beating her way directly to Jack's island.   
  
The sloop dropped her anchor maybe an hour later, a short way offshore, and her crew lowered a boat. Shortly it was being paddled to shore. Jack stood up, despite his head protesting vehemently, and buckled on his swordbelt.   
  
The little boat navigated its way through the shallow shoals and slid to a halt on the sandy beach. Men jumped out and pulled it well up on to shore, and it was only then that they saw Jack, standing waiting for them.   
  
Instantly three cutlasses were drawn, and the men - tanned, burly and tough - approached him.   
  
"Gentlemen," said Jack, grinning at them.   
  
"How'd you get 'ere?" the shortest of the men demanded, his voice gruff. "Ain't nobody what knows about this island save us."   
  
"Swam," Jack said.   
  
"From where?" the man said. "Long way from anywhere else."   
  
"My ship," explained Jack.   
  
"You've been marooned?" one of the other men asked, lowering his sword a little.   
  
"In a manner of speaking, aye," Jack agreed.   
  
"What are ye?" the first man questioned, his tone suspicious. His companions laughed.   
  
"Look at 'im, Tom. Couldn't be anything other than a pirate. Hardly goin' to be Navy, like that, is 'e?"   
  
"Pirate it is," Jack said. "Captain Jack Sparrow, very much at your service - provided you'll take me off this bloody island."   
  
A shout came from the trapdoor in the sand. "Someone's been at the cache!"   
  
"That'll be me," Jack said. "Good rum. S'pose you'll be runners of the heavenly elixir, would you?"   
  
"Eh?" said the man addressed as Tom.   
  
"You're rum-runners?" Jack clarified.   
  
"We make a livin' selling rum, aye," Tom said.   
  
"Not so different from meself, then," Jack said cheerfully. "Pirates, smugglers, same line of business, to my mind. So you'll be glad to help a fellow buccaneer, I'd guess?" On the beach, another man held up the three empty bottles. Tom looked distinctly displeased, and Jack gave him his best smile.   
  
"I'll pay for it, mate. Just get me off this island. I've a ship to find and a score to settle, and I don't fancy wasting the rest of my days sitting here drinking rum. Not that it's not exceptionally nice rum, mind."   
  
"Jack Sparrow, you said?" the third man asked.   
  
"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow," Jack confirmed.   
  
"I've heard of you," the man said. "You and your ship - the _Black Diamond_, or some-such name?"   
  
"The _Black Pearl_," Jack corrected him.   
  
"That's her. One o' the fastest ships in the Caribbean, ain't she?"   
  
Jack nodded. "The fastest, mate." He looked past the men, out to sea. "The fastest."   
  
"And you're the one what escaped the East India Company, and captured four navy vessels at once, and took half the Frenchies' new cargo of weapons from under their noses, right?"   
  
"That'd be right," Jack agreed.   
  
"Where would you want to be going, Cap'n?" the smuggler asked.   
  
"Anywhere," Jack said, waving a hand in the air vaguely. "Leastways ... not Tortuga. I've a mind to keep a low profile, for a bit. Wherever you're going."   
  
The three men exchanged glances and spoke together quickly in low voices. Finally, they turned back to Jack.   
  
"We'll take you. But you'll work the passage, and we'd not say no to any ... valuables ... you happen to have on your person."   
  
Jack flicked a braid at them. "Amber, silver, turquoise," he said. "You can have some of these. Just get me off this bloody island - savvy?"   
  
"Deal." Tom held out a hand, and Jack shook it.   
  
"We have an accord," he said.   
  
He helped the rum-runners load up their boat with barrels and bottles, and before dusk Jack Sparrow was aboard their sleek sloop, watching the outline of the island disappear astern. He had escaped a long, lonely death, and his aim now was to regain his ship and his crew. Nothing else mattered, save the _Black Pearl_.   
  
Little did Jack know how long his journey was to be. 


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Well, that's a record for the most reviews I've ever had for one chapter of a fic. Blimey. Many thanks. Also, many apologies for the delay in this second chapter - thing is, what with it being Christmas soon and so on (ROTK coming up, for instance), Real Life hasn't permitted me much time to write this week. I imagine it'll continue in this vein until the New Year - I'll try and get one up a week but if I don't, please be assured I'm not abandoning the story. Jack won't let me do that!_  
  
----  
  
"Well," Tom said, turning to Jack, "San Juan - this be our port." He handed their passenger a bottle of rum. "You earned this getting us through that storm."   
  
Jack took the bottle. "Cheers, mate. Least I could do."   
  
"You could stay with us," Tom suggested. "Could do with another hand, we could, 'specially one who knows what he's doing with a ship."   
  
"No, thanks," Jack said. "No offence - she's a beauty, your ship, but she won't help me catch the _Pearl_."   
  
"Too small?" Tom asked.   
  
Jack grinned, and patted the other man on the back. "Too slow. I need a ship that'll race the winds and fly with the waves."   
  
"Where will you find such a ship?" Tom questioned, folding his arms and looking curiously at Jack.   
  
"Dunno," said Jack. "But I'll look for her, and one day I'll find her. The fastest ship in the Caribbean, after the _Black Pearl_."   
  
Tom held out a hand. "Well, good luck, Cap'n Sparrow. Been a pleasure."   
  
Jack shook. "Likewise. Thanks for the rum."   
  
They exchanged grins, and Jack sauntered off down the gangplank on to Puerto Rican soil.   
  
He had been to San Juan once before, years ago, and remembered the town vaguely. But that had been with the old crew of the _Black Pearl_ - Captain Flint, gruff Thornton, Joffo the Frenchman - and now he was alone. He had no ship, no friends, precious little money or other valuables. On the plus side, he reflected, he did have his sword and the threat of his pistol (though he was resolved not to fire it), his hat, and his wits. The wits were, possibly, the most important thing. Jack resolved, as he paused by a stall selling fruit. He made a pretence of examining the produce before wandering on, but not until he had palmed a plantain and tucked it in his pocket.   
  
A little further on, Jack settled down by the harbour and pulled out the bottle of rum he had been given. Pulling out the cork, he held it up to examine the rich colour, backlit by the sun. He tipped the bottle up and drank, contemplating the ships at anchor as he did so.   
  
Aside from the rum-runner's sloop, the harbour was busy with a mixture of small fishing boats and other roughly made but seaworthy native vessels; and the taller merchant vessels. It was the latter that Jack examined as he drank his rum, though if he were honest with himself, he was not entirely sure what he was looking for. He wanted to find the _Black Pearl_, and win her back, to be certain. But to do that, he needed a crew, and a crew would not be forthcoming in a place like this. In the meantime, therefore, getting a berth on a ship would have to be the next step.   
  
And so, Jack Sparrow sat and drank his rum and watched the vessels and the men on them, seeking one that suited his purpose and his liking.   
  
By the bottom of the bottle, he had narrowed his shortlist to two ships. One was a bark that reminded him very much of the _Pearl_, though her sails were cream, not black; and the other was a small, two-masted brig in immaculate condition. Both ships had been unloading cargo and taking on supplies all afternoon, and it seemed to Jack that they would be setting sail soon for new horizons. He resolved, with a shake of the bottle to empty it of every last drop, to join one of those vessels the very next morning.   
  
Jack slept the night in an empty animal shed, nestled down on some sacks. He would have tried to find a tavern, but since he had already surrendered one braid's worth of beads to the rum-runners, and had no coins worth speaking of in his pockets, he was loath to give up anything else he possessed. The shed was warm, at least, and the sacks no less uncomfortable than many other things he had slept upon. In the morning, he woke with a surprisingly clear head given the rum, and set out to charm his way on to a ship.   
  
He went for the bark first. It was anchored alongside the quay, with a gangplank leading to the ship. On deck, a tall man in a coat of fine serge was discussing navigation with another, shabbier sailor. Jack straightened his hat, squared his shoulders and walked briskly up the gangplank as if the ship was indeed the _Black Pearl_.   
  
The tall man looked up from his chart. "Yes?" he said, his tone not welcoming.   
  
Jack gestured at the ship. "Nice boat you've got here," he said. "Very nice. Don't suppose you've got such a thing as room for another crewmember? Captain?"   
  
The captain inclined his head. "I am the captain of this vessel, it's true. And another hand would not go amiss. But why should I take on a ... man ..." he looked doubtfully at Jack's appearance, "who wanders on to my ship uninvited?"   
  
"Because, cap'n," Jack said, taking another step forward to accentuate his point, "I'm a damn good sailor." He glanced around the ship, and looking upwards saw a loose shroud flapping a bit in the wind. "That, for instance," he said, pointing it out. "Needs fixing."   
  
Before the captain could say anything, Jack had his boots and coat and sword belt off, and was ascending the rigging as nimbly as he ever had as a cabin boy. In moments he had the shroud tied down correctly, and was back on the deck.   
  
"Indeed," said the captain, his face thoughtful. "Not bad, Mr ..."   
  
Jack paused from putting his boots back on, and raised his eyes to the captain. In that split second he made a decision. Barbossa and his men would, by now, surely imagine Jack Sparrow dead. Then, Jack thought, Jack Sparrow would be dead - at least for a while.   
  
"Swift," he said. "James Swift. But most people call me Jim."   
  
"And what have you been doing until now, Mr Swift?" the captain asked.   
  
Jack settled his sword belt over his shoulder, hand going automatically to check that the precious pistol was still there.   
  
"This and that," he explained. "Bit o' that, little o' this. Jumpin' from ship to ship, trying to find one that suits me."   
  
"Seen something of the world, I take it?" the captain said. "The ... erm ... the hair, and so on."   
  
"Oh, the hair?" Jack returned. "Easiest way of keeping valuables valuable, mate - I mean, captain, sir. Wouldn't be a problem, would it?"   
  
The captain, startled, shook his head. "No. No, of course not."   
  
Jack smiled. "Good."   
  
"Well." The other man held out his hand. "Though nobody has ever made such a bold offer of their services before, I believe you would indeed be an asset to the crew. Please join us, Mr Swift - we sail on the morning tide."   
  
"Bound where?" Jack questioned, hand hovering inches from the captain's.   
  
"England," said the captain.   
  
"England," Jack repeated. "Very well. I'll join you." He shook hands.   
  
"You'll sleep below with the other men," the captain said. "You may bring your kit aboard this afternoon; everyone is due back then."   
  
"No kit, captain," Jack said, spreading his hands. "What you see is what you get."   
  
"Very well," the captain shrugged. "Welcome aboard the _Lucky Venture_. I'm Captain Jones. If you have naught to do until evening, Mr Swift, you could take a closer look at our rigging. You spotted that loose knot sharpish."   
  
"Aye, aye, sir!" Jack said, smartly. Captain Jones nodded, and returned to the quarterdeck and his chart. Jack took off his boots, hat and sword belt again and began to methodically check the state of the rigging from deck to topmasts.   
  
When the rest of the crew came aboard later that afternoon, they seemed surprised but not displeased to discover a new member of the crew. They found Jack a hammock and somewhere to stow his few belongings. Jack left the sword belt, with pistol and compass, reluctantly, but knew he could not keep them on his person at all times, not as a regular crewmember. He was assigned to the middle watch, under the command of an old sailor named Brown, and after eating the whole crew were ordered below, so they could be well rested for the early start.   
  
They were woken by the ringing of a bell before dawn, and in the half-light that comes before the sun is fully up, set the sails to leave harbour. Jack found himself assigned as topman, and, with his toes gripping the line, his fingers working to unfurl the sail, he felt for a moment as if time had been rolled back and he was again a young pirate on the _Black Pearl_, with Flint below at the helm. Then the sails unfurled, and creamy canvas billowed in the wind, and the feeling faded. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, feared pirate and master of the fastest ship in the Caribbean. Only the ship was gone, and he was concealing his identity and working as a plain sailor.   
  
Jack leant on the boom and felt the surge of the _Lucky Venture_ as she met open sea, her prow cutting through the water. The wind whipped his hair back off his face, and he closed his eyes and let himself drift back into memory, back into longing. 


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** last chapter before Christmas, hopefully not the last before the New Year. Happy holidays, whatever you celebrate, to all of you, and thank you so much for reading!_  
  
----  
  
Jack was swabbing the decks, pushing a mop to and fro. The _Lucky Venture_ was making good speed under a fair wind, and Captain Jones was pleased with their progress. For the moment, there were few tasks to be done, and so the crew had been set to essential cleaning and maintenance tasks.   
  
Refilling his wooden pail with a neat flick of the wrist, Jack took a step forward to work at a stubborn mark on the decking. It had been a long time since he had worked like this, but perversely he found he was quite enjoying it. The physical effort numbed the still-present pain of the _Black Pearl_'s loss; and when the sails needed setting he was invariably sent aloft. The old exhilaration from being high up, the waves foaming below, had not faded. But he missed the feel of a ship underneath his hands, and pausing now in the swabbing, Jack looked up at the quarterdeck, where the _Lucky Venture_'s bo'sun was at the helm.   
  
The crew of this merchant vessel were a good group of men. Keen and committed, and faithful to their captain, they were lively and good-humoured. At night, when the ship was riding under little canvas, a fiddle was usually produced, and the sailors sang songs and told tales until it was time to bed down. Jack found himself wishing he could tell one of his own stories, but that would have given him away as a pirate, and so he bit his tongue and listened to the others.   
  
So life was not too bad, and Jack reflected, as he emptied the pail and stowed the mop in its place, that at least he had a keel underneath his feet and sails over his head. Better than rotting on an island.   
  
As the sun set that evening, clouds were beginning to roll in. Jack looked up at the sky and frowned to himself.   
  
"What is it, Mr Swift?" Captain Jones asked, passing.   
  
"Weather, cap'n," said Jack. "It's going to blow."   
  
Jones turned his eyes to the sky. "Aye, I imagine it is."   
  
"It's going to blow hard," Jack said.   
  
The captain, hands behind his back, looked at Jack. "I haven't sailed much in the Caribbean, Mr Swift - how bad can these storms get? We were safely at berth in San Juan last week."   
  
Jack met Jones's gaze. "Bad," he told the captain. "When a Caribbean wind blows, she blows. Rain pours down - none of your English drips. If it starts to pick up, you need to reef, and reef quick. Mainsail and foresail will carry her. And a firm hand on the tiller."   
  
"I shall bear your advice in mind," said Jones. "Thank you, Mr Swift."   
  
Sure enough, when Jack was awoken for his night watch, the wind had got up and rain was lashing the deck. He crammed his hat on his head, pulled on his coat and went out into it.   
  
The two principal sails were already reefed, and the others furled, but the wind was such that the ship was driving along at a fair pace. Jack was directed to stand ready by the shrouds, should the sails need more work. He gripped the lines with one hand, bracing himself against the pitching of the vessel in the high seas, and prepared to ride out the storm.   
  
Throughout the night, the _Venture_ tossed and pitched on the waves. Rain was pouring down, sending sheets of water on to the deck. Jack was devoutly grateful for his boots, keeping his feet dry, and his hat, which was keeping most of the rain off his face. As he clung to his shroud, he found himself grinning through pure exhilaration.   
  
They sailed on, and it kept blowing. At the helm, the bo'sun clung to the wheel, holding the ship on her course.   
  
There was about an hour of the watch to go when it happened. A sudden gust of wind brought the boom of the mizzenmast around, landing the bo'sun a solid thwack on the head. He crumpled to the deck, and the ship shuddered, bereft of her guiding hand.   
  
Jack, standing at his post, saw the blow before it happened, and even as the bo'sun fell, he was moving. He moved as quickly as he could given the roll of the ship, and was soon at the helm. The bo'sun appeared to be breathing, and Jack gave him little thought before he took hold of the wheel.   
  
The _Lucky Venture_ responded quickly to his touch as Jack hauled her back on course. He felt the vessel pick up speed again, and glanced upwards to check the set of the two sails.   
  
"Haul away on port side!" he called, raising his voice so it carried over the storm. The other sailors started at hearing the command, but obeyed quickly. Jack grinned, as the _Venture_ steadied and then drove forward anew.   
  
The captain appeared up the steps to the quarterdeck, pulling on his coat as he came. Evidently he had been awoken by the shudder moments before. He started at seeing Jack at the helm, but then caught sight of the bo'sun, who was now stirring and trying to sit up.   
  
"I'm holding a nor'easterly course, captain," Jack said. "Sails trimmed a little. Bo'sun got his noggin bashed by the boom."   
  
The captain leaned over and peered at the compass, swinging before the helm. "Good," he said, his voice slightly puzzled, before going to help the bo'sun.   
  
Jack held the helm, bracing against the storm, until the watches changed and another man took over. Dripping wet, he went below, finding himself yawning widely, but still full of adrenalin.   
  
Captain Jones's cabin door opened as Jack went past it. "Mr Swift."   
  
Jack turned on his heel. "Yes, cap'n?"   
  
"Come in a moment, would you?"   
  
Taking off his hat and shaking it out, Jack followed Jones into the cabin.   
  
The captain sat down in a comfortable chair and waved Jack into another. "A tot of rum?"   
  
"Aye. Thank you." Jack accepted the cup and swallowed some of the warm sweet liquid. It trickled into his stomach, warming him somewhat.   
  
"Where did you learn to steer like that, Mr Swift?" Jones asked, without preamble. "The men said as soon as Mr Viera went down, you took the helm, reset the sails - and, I imagine, prevented us from being further swamped with water. Showed some initiative."   
  
"Sensible thing to do, seemed like," Jack said easily. "Didn't want the ship to go down, lose a mast, anything like that, savvy?"   
  
"But you've steered a ship before," Jones pressed.   
  
Jack swallowed another gulp of rum. "I have."   
  
"What sort of ship?" asked Jones.   
  
Pausing, Jack thought of the _Black Pearl_, her dark sails and graceful lines, and the way she surged easily through the water. "A bark, bit like this one," he said, eventually. "Lovely ship."   
  
"And you were, what?" pursued the captain. "The mate? Bo'sun?"   
  
"Occasional helmsman," Jack said. "Nothing more."   
  
Jones watched him for a few moments, without saying anything. "I have a feeling," he said, "there is something you're not telling me, Mr Swift."   
  
_More than a bit_, Jack thought to himself, but he said nothing, instead simply grinning. "Don't reckon so," he said. "Hope I didn't do wrong, taking the helm, cap'n?"   
  
"No, you did right," the captain said. "Thank you, Mr Swift - that'll be all."   
  
Jack stood up and went off to his hammock.   
  
After that, Jack found himself with more responsibility aboard the merchant ship. The men accorded him more respect, seeing an experienced seaman as well as a hard-working crew member. Yet he still felt separate from them, careful what he said and what he did; and he was careful not to roll up his right sleeve and expose the "P" brand of the East India Company.   
  
They were well into their voyage by now. No land was in sight. Below the ship's keel ran the dark waters of the Atlantic Ocean, and only the occasional sail was seen on the horizon. Until the day when towers of canvas were seen behind, closing in on the _Lucky Venture_. Jack, on lookout duty, sang out: "Ship ahoy, straight astern!" and put the ship's telescope to his eye to try and see her colours. There were none, and he frowned to himself. Many had been the time that the _Pearl_ had shown her pirate's flag late, when their prey could not escape.   
  
He tucked the telescope in his belt and shimmied down the rigging, landing lightly on the deck. Crossing to stand below the quarterdeck, he looked up at Captain Jones.   
  
"No colours, cap'n."   
  
Jones took out his own telescope and looked astern. "Brigantine. Thank you, Mr Swift - return to your post, if you will."   
  
Jack nodded, and shortly was back at the crow's nest, shading his eyes and watching the brigantine approach. As the day drew on, she grew closer and closer, evidently loaded more lightly than his ship. He could soon see men hurrying around, and a full set of cannon on either side of the main deck. Someone was at the stern with an armful of dark material. The black flag streamed out behind the brigantine, and Jack Sparrow's gold-glinting smile matched the grin on the face of the skull and crossbones.   
  
Pirates. 


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Happy New Year!_  
  
----  
  
The Jolly Roger blew out in the wind as the brigantine continued to gain on the _Lucky Venture_. From below, someone yelled in a voice full of terror: "Pirates, captain!"   
  
Jack climbed quickly back down to the deck, where he joined the rest of the crew. Some men had been roused from their hammocks and were rubbing bleary eyes. Captain Jones was pacing the quarterdeck, his brow creased in worry as he thought.   
  
Jack sat down on a coil of rope and waited. He knew what he would have done in this situation, had he been the merchant captain - hidden anything valuable, brought some tradeable goods on deck, and run up a flag of truce. But this was not his ship.   
  
Jones turned on his heel and faced his crew. "Any of you with personal weapons, go below and fetch them," he said. "I will not let a pirate aboard the _Venture_ without a fight."   
  
The crew cheered, and about half the men hurried below decks. Jack followed, trying to suppress his grin. If only Jones knew that he had already allowed a pirate to stroll aboard the ship, without a blow being struck.   
  
He put on his coat and boots as well as his swordbelt, automatically checking that the compass was attached securely and that the pistol with the single shot was there, before going back on deck. Those men who did not own swords or pistols had been equipped with the ship's supply, and spare spars and belaying pins. But they looked nervous.   
  
The pirate brigantine was closing now. Quickly, Jones snapped out some orders. Some of the crew were dispatched to man the cannon. But Jack could see that the brigantine was already prepared to fire, and sure enough, a shot landed a few yards off the _Venture_'s port stern.   
  
"Warning shot," Jack muttered to himself, waiting by the rail, sword drawn.   
  
Jones called, "Fire!" and the _Lucky Venture_'s cannons belched out smoke. One shot grazed the side of the pirate ship even as it swung around to lie alongside the _Venture_. Grapples flew through the air, gripping the merchant vessel's rail, and were swiftly followed by pirates. Jack could see the pirate captain on the quarterdeck of the brigantine, calling orders, and for a swift moment he felt a burst of jealousy. But then the first pirate had boarded and he was swinging his blade up to counter the thrust of the other man.   
  
Jack fought without trying to injure, far less kill, just pushing the pirates back off the _Lucky Venture_. Behind him he heard the cries and clashes as the merchant sailors tried to beat off the boarders, even as he himself landed a solid blow in the stomach of one clumsy fighter, who fell back on to the brigantine's deck with a grunt.   
  
Jack flicked a braid back and lifted his sword for the next man - but the expected attack never came. Instead, the pirate who had just swung on board the _Venture_ looked at him from behind a bushy grey beard, and said: "Jack?"   
  
Lowering his sword a fraction, Jack examined the other man, and laughed aloud. "Elias Carpenter!"   
  
Carpenter, who looked a good deal older than the last time Jack had seen him, leaving the _Black Pearl_ to go home to England, nodded. "Aye, it's me. Is this not a merchant ship?"   
  
"It is." Jack nodded. "It's a long story, Elias. Very long. D'you reckon you can take her?"   
  
Looking over the brawls going on around them, Carpenter nodded. "I do. We've an experienced crew, and this lot aren't much."   
  
"They're not, are they?" Jack agreed. "Unless ... here's a thought, Elias, mate. I know where the swag's kept aboard this vessel. What say you I show you where it is, you lift as much as you need, and then we all toddle off back to your ship and sail away without killing too many of these poor souls, eh?"   
  
Carpenter eyed Jack sideways-on for a few moments. "Sounds like a plan, but what's in it for you, Jack?"   
  
"You get me off this ship and I can start being what I am again," Jack said. "They're decent men, here, but me - I'm a pirate." He smiled at Carpenter. "Good stuff down in the hold."   
  
Ten minutes later, Carpenter had rallied a number of his fellows and Jack was leading them down to the hold. He directed the pirates towards the most valuable goods and stood back to watch them carry the loot away. Elias Carpenter hesitated before joining them.   
  
"Are you not helping?"   
  
"Thing is," Jack said, twirling his sword hilt in his hand, "the captain of this ship's a good man."   
  
"Which is why you've shown us where the stuff is?" Carpenter said, puzzled.   
  
"I was clearly coerced into it," Jack explained, holding his sword out to his old shipmate. "Threatened. Overpowered, like. And once you've gathered all you can, you'll be taking me prisoner and dragging, no, hauling me aboard your fair vessel. Actually, you'll be hauling a certain Jim Swift aboard your vessel."   
  
Carpenter considered Jack's words, and eventually nodded. "Aye. We'll take Mr Swift prisoner, then. Hand over your sword, Jack."   
  
Jack grinned, and passed the weapon to Carpenter.   
  
And so it was that, kicking, screaming and shouting, James Swift left the _Lucky Venture_ a prisoner of a band of fearsome pirates. The men of the _Venture_, exhausted from their fight and demoralised by their defeat, let off their last few shots in an attempt to save Swift, for he had become a popular crew member in the short time he had been aboard. The pirate brigantine set her sails and turned westward, leaving the merchant ship floating.   
  
Carpenter let go of Jack's arm as the brigantine picked up speed, and gave him back his sword. "My, but it's good to see you again, Jack, lad. What in the name of Neptune were you doin' aboard that merchant?"   
  
Jack sheathed his sword. "Me crew mutinied."   
  
"Eh?" Carpenter sat down on a barrel. "Lessee, it's what, seven year since I left the _Pearl_? What's happened to her since then?"   
  
"Captain Flint died," Jack said. "Named me cap'n in his place. We were doing well. But then I reckon I picked the wrong crew, and they turned on me - mutinied, they did, even old William Turner."   
  
"Bootstrap Bill turned against you?" Carpenter said, astonished. "Well, I never did. What did they do, leave you at a port?"   
  
"Marooned me," Jack said.   
  
"So ... how ... where?" said Carpenter.   
  
"Island. Escaped." Jack waved his hand in the air, vaguely. "Joined the _Lucky Venture_ - first ship I found that'd take me. And they were good men, for merchants. Bit stiff for me, but good men."   
  
Carpenter said nothing for a few minutes as he digested Jack's news. "So what'll you do now?" he asked, scratching his head.   
  
Jack looked about him. The pirate crew of the brigantine were emptying sacks and cases and pockets to make a pile of loot on the deck; it all looked comfortingly familiar. He leaned closer to Carpenter and lowered his voice.   
  
"See here," he said. "For the moment I'd rather that Jack Sparrow kept a low profile."   
  
Carpenter snorted a laugh. "You? A low profile?"   
  
"Not me, as such," Jack corrected him, "but the name, savvy? Two captains on a ship's one too many. If your cap'n'll have me, I'd gladly join his crew, but it'll be James Swift that'll be joining."   
  
His old friend looked hard at him. "I reckon I see," he said, slowly. "You'd rather old Bootstrap and the rest o' the _Pearl_'s crew thought you marooned, for a while longer?"   
  
Jack nodded. "Exactly. There's nobody else aboard this boat who knows me?"   
  
"Not that I know of," Carpenter said. "Right y'are, then, Jack - I mean Jim - I'll take you to the cap'n." They stood up and set off towards the quarterdeck, from where the captain was overseeing the sorting of the loot. "He's a Dago," confided Carpenter. "Spaniard out o' Barcelona. Ship's the _Lucia_."   
  
"Old flame of his?" Jack asked.   
  
"Mebbe." Carpenter shrugged. "Nobody knows." They reached the quarterdeck. "Cap'n Menéndez!" he called.   
  
The captain turned from examining a piece of jewellery. "Mr Carpenter. Is this your prisoner?"   
  
"Aye, sir." Carpenter touched the edge of his hat, respectfully. "Leastways, in a manner of speaking. Turns out we're old shipmates."   
  
"Are you?" Menéndez looked at Jack in much the same way as he had been looking at the jewellery. "What was a pirate doing aboard a merchant vessel, then?"   
  
"Not sure o' that meself," Jack said. "James Swift, cap'n, and I'm mighty glad you came along when you did."   
  
"Why is that?" the captain asked. He spoke with a light Spanish accent, but his English seemed flawless.   
  
"Too much like honest work for me," said Jack. "Too dull. Need a bit of excitement in me life, me."   
  
"Mr Carpenter," Captain Menéndez said, "are you vouching for this man?"   
  
"That I am, cap'n," Carpenter agreed. "You'll not find a better aloft, and he's none too shabby with a blade."   
  
Menéndez came close to Jack and their eyes met. Jack held the other man's gaze, and finally the Spaniard nodded. "All right. You may join us, Mr Swift."   
  
"Thank you, cap'n," Jack said, giving him a small bow. "Much obliged."   
  
"See that you live up to Mr Carpenter's recommendation," Menéndez said. He gave Jack one last look and turned away.   
  
"Aye, aye, sir," Jack told the retreating back.   
  
"C'mon, lad," Carpenter said, "let's find you a place to speak."   
  
Jack hurried to catch his friend up. "Y'know, Elias, just because I'm going incognito does not mean you get to forget one very important thing."   
  
"What's that?" Carpenter questioned.   
  
Jack grinned. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow - savvy?"   
  
Shaking his head, Carpenter laughed. "Savvy. You haven't changed a mite, have you?"   
  
"And I don't plan to," Jack said. "Now, is there a spare hammock aboard this vessel of yours?" 


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
"Dagger and a selection of beads," the quartermaster said, pouring the latter into Jack's cupped hands. "Funny sort o' loot, if you ask me, Jim."   
  
"Ah, but it's my loot," Jack pointed out.   
  
"And you earned it," the quartermaster said, shaking his head. "Disarmed those men beautifully, you did. Lovely."   
  
Jack closed his hand around the beads. "Thanks."   
  
He found a quiet, empty space on deck and settled down with some of the beads to start replacing the ones he had given to the rum-runners weeks before. Twisting a few strands of hair together, and bending his head forward so the new braid hung down before his eyes, he began to thread beads on to it.   
  
He had three beads hanging from the braid when footsteps sounded and a man sat down next to him. Jack looked up. The newcomer was one of the other pirates, a man known simply as Red Geraint.   
  
"Jim."   
  
"Red," Jack said, choosing another bead and starting to thread hair through its hole.   
  
"Funny thing," Red Geraint mused, picking at his nails with a dagger, "I heard of another man that did that with his hair."   
  
"Oh?" The bead slid on. Jack twisted a knot underneath it.   
  
"Captain of the _Black Pearl_," Geraint went on. "Fellow named Jack Sparrow."   
  
"I heard that too," Jack said, selecting a fifth bead. "Thought it seemed like a good way of keeping stuff safe." He glanced at his companion, and grinned. "'Sides, have you not heard the stories about Sparrow? Bloody good pirate, that one."   
  
Geraint shrugged. "Can't believe more than half of them, can we? And those half seem ... well, exaggerated, a bit, see?"   
  
"Very likely," said Jack, knowing full well that most of the stories circulating _were_ exaggerated, and for good reason - he'd been the one to do the exaggeration. "But I like the stories, so I copied the hairstyle."   
  
Geraint looked hard at him for a moment, and then shrugged. "You're a mad one, you are."   
  
Jack flashed him a suitably mad smile, and Geraint shook his head before getting up and going off.   
  
The _Lucia_ was beating her way around the Caribbean, with no particular course or aim save to take as much loot as possible from as many ships as possible. Her crew were a rough and ready bunch, good-natured as pirates went. Jack was rather enjoying himself. Without the responsibilities that came with being a captain, he was rediscovering the pure thrill of piracy and the fellowship of drinking a tot of rum with his crewmates on an evening.   
  
However, he was still missing the _Black Pearl_, and above all, he was missing being himself. He was constantly having to rein in his naturally flamboyant nature, and having to remember that he was James Swift, not Captain Jack Sparrow.   
  
He made up for hiding behind the pseudonym during the fights that occurred each time the _Lucia_ attempted to take another ship. With his sword, Jack could let go; feet moving and blade flashing, throwing jibes out at his opponent. He was one of the most successful pirates on the ship, bringing in a deal of money, jewellery, fine clothes and weapons after each raid. Even the taciturn Captain Menéndez commented on the prowess of his newest crewmember. Jim Swift quickly won the respect of the other pirates.   
  
They patrolled the waters of the eastern and southern Caribbean for several months, taking supplies from their victims and occasionally putting in at port for a night or two. Eventually, Menéndez made the decision to turn northwest and head for Hispaniola and Tortuga.   
  
Jack and Elias Carpenter were on the same watch, and often spent quiet moments standing by the rail together.   
  
"D'you hope to catch sight of the _Pearl_?" Carpenter asked, one night, as the _Lucia_ hurried north under a good wind.   
  
Jack shrugged. "Mebbe. Not sure what I'd do if we did see her."   
  
"Reckon that Barbossa found the gold?" Carpenter said. Jack had told him the myth of the Aztec gold shortly after joining the _Lucia_.   
  
"Oh, it was there," Jack said. "I'm certain of that. So if it was there, then he found it." He frowned to himself. "S'pose he's gone and squandered it on drink and girls."   
  
"What would you have spent it on?" his friend asked.   
  
"Drink, and girls," Jack said. "But also I'd have spent it on the old lady. She could do with some new sails, new lines ... new planking. There's a loose board in the brig." He gazed into the darkness, picturing his ship in his mind. "I'd have got 'er painted, fresh paint. Redecorated me cabin."   
  
"You're soft about that vessel," observed Carpenter.   
  
"I won't deny it," Jack agreed.   
  
Carpenter was silent for a moment. "I don't rightly understand," he said. "I've never known anyone else who loved a ship like you love the _Pearl_, Jack ... I mean Jim. There be cap'ns who are fond of their vessels, but I reckon you'd turn a lass away if she were to come between you and your girl."   
  
Jack shot his friend a quick, sharp glance, and laughed. "It'd depend on the lass, Elias. The _Pearl_ doesn't mean _that_ much I'd turn away a pretty woman for her."   
  
"I'm glad to hear it," Carpenter said. "There was me beginning to get worried."   
  
A shout came from the quarterdeck to trim the sails, and the two men turned away from the rail to carry out their duties.   
  
They sailed into Tortuga a week later. Jack, occupied high aloft as usual, looked for the familiar dark silhouette of the _Black Pearl_ at anchor, but did not see her. He went ashore with the other pirates somewhat reluctantly - people knew him in Tortuga, and people knew the _Pearl_, and he was concerned that someone would put two and two together when they saw the captain and no ship. So he tied his hair back, left off his red headscarf, and pulled his hat down low over his eyes, and resolved not to talk to anyone he recognised.   
  
That first night ashore went without a hitch, and after a day spent carrying out essential maintenance tasks aboard the _Lucia_, Jack followed the rest of the men back into town a good deal more cheerfully. Shortly after midnight he bade goodnight to Carpenter and the others, and wandered off arm-in-arm with a buxom whore. The rest of the evening passed in a most pleasurable manner, and eventually Jack fell contentedly asleep in the girl's bed.   
  
He woke late in the morning, and leaving a few coins on the pillow dressed and went out. With his thumbs hooked in his sash, he strolled nonchalantly towards the harbour. The sun was out and warm, beating down brightly on the town. In daylight, Tortuga looked shabby, the wood of the buildings bleached by sun and wind. It smelt, too, but Jack had long since grown used to that particular odour of salt and sweat, drink and sex.   
  
Coming round the corner of the street into the harbour, he looked for the _Lucia_, lying snug in her berth. Nobody was yet about on deck, but she was anchored neatly with her sails furled and tied down. Jack turned his feet towards her, eyes scanning the rest of the harbour.   
  
He stopped short at the sight of the ship coming into sight, gliding in from open ocean into the calm of the cove. Large but graceful, her lines perfect, and the sails billowing from her main and foremasts black.   
  
Jack's breath caught in his throat. As he watched, the foresail was lowered, and he could see men perched along the boom, busy working. Jack stayed where he was, and kept watching until the _Black Pearl_ had anchored a hundred yards out into the harbour. On the quarterdeck of his ship, he could see the wide feathered hat of Barbossa. There was no sign of Bootstrap Bill Turner.   
  
Turning, Jack slowly walked up the gangplank of the _Lucia_, and below to his hammock.   
  
During the afternoon, the pirates who had returned to the _Lucia_ settled to mending the spare sails on deck. Jack's eyes kept drifting away from his needle to the black ship at rest only a short distance away.   
  
"That's the _Black Pearl_, ain't it?" someone said, gesturing towards her.   
  
"Believe so," Red Geraint said, sitting opposite Jack. "Jim? You're the Sparrow fan."   
  
"Only said I'd heard of him," Jack said, tearing his eyes off his vessel and turning to Geraint. "Not that I'd ever seen him, or his ship."   
  
"Ah, that's the _Pearl_, all right," the quartermaster said, jabbing his needle into the canvas. "Ask Elias Carpenter - he once sailed aboard her."   
  
Jack finished a stitch. "Not a 'specially lovely ship, is she?" he commented, lightly. "All that black."   
  
"Fast, though," Geraint said. "Or so I heard."   
  
"Mmmm." Jack forced himself to keep his eyes on the canvas, and kept sewing.   
  
He did not go ashore that evening. Instead, he climbed the foremast and sat watching the other ship, and imagining the things he would like to do to Barbossa.   
  
It was late when the voice called up from the decks. "Jack. Jack!"   
  
"Eh?" Jack peered down.   
  
"It's Elias. Jack, I know you're up there."   
  
Jack swung his legs over the boom and climbed down the rigging. "Jim, Elias, Jim."   
  
Carpenter did not seem to hear, instead pulling at Jack's sleeve and dragging him under the stairs that led to the quarterdeck.   
  
"I was in the 'Faithful Bride'," he said, and Jack, peering at him in the gloom, saw that Carpenter looked genuinely scared of something.   
  
"Go on," he prompted.   
  
Carpenter took a deep breath. "Well, in came this man with a fancy hat on. Big feather and all. And a bunch of 'is crew. They were laughing, joking, pleased to be ashore, it seemed. They had gold." He paused.   
  
Jack nodded, encouragingly. "Carry on, Elias."   
  
"Seemed as though this was your Barbossa," Carpenter said. "No Bill Turner. Anyways, they sat themselves down and ordered rum, ale, grog - lots of it. Flashed gold around, they did."   
  
"Did you see any of it?" Jack asked. "Did you see it?"   
  
"Aye, I did." Carpenter nodded. "It were your gold, all right, Jack. Had a skull on it, patterns round the edge. Like nowt I'd seen before." His eyes misted over. "Lovely, it was."   
  
"So?"   
  
"So, I listened in to their talk," said Carpenter. "They'd put in on Cuba, spent some time there, afore sailing for Tortuga. They spoke of you, a little. Some of them drank a toast to you."   
  
"Mighty good of them," observed Jack.   
  
"And then ..." Carpenter hesitated, before visibly pulling himself together, "they mentioned old Bootstrap. Said how he'd not liked taking the ship from you. Said ... well ... he's dead, Jack. Drowned."   
  
Jack shook his head. "Bill can swim."   
  
"Not with a cannon strapped to his feet, he can't," Carpenter said, his face pale.   
  
There was silence. Jack stared at Carpenter for a moment, and turned away.   
  
"Well now," said a voice, from close by, and the door leading into Menéndez's cabin opened. The captain stood framed by lantern light, his arms folded. "This is _muy interesante_. Extremely. Captain Sparrow, might I have a word?" 


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** I'm looking for critical comments on two areas in this chapter: i) it's rather dialogue-heavy - too much so? ii) is my Spanish correct? Any thoughts/corrections welcomed! Thanks for the continued feedback and support._  
  
----  
  
Jack followed Menéndez into his cabin, accompanied by Carpenter who was looking, if possible, even paler than he had done a few minutes before. The Spaniard's cabin was positively Spartan, particularly when compared with Jack's aboard the _Black Pearl_.   
  
Menéndez settled himself into a chair, and did not offer Jack one. Carpenter hung back by the door, fidgeting. After a moment, Jack pulled out a seat and sat down.   
  
The two captains watched each other, silently, for a while. Menéndez's mouth twitched, as if he was holding something back, and finally he spoke.   
  
"You _are_ Jack Sparrow, then?"   
  
Jack considered, briefly, denying it, but decided that trying to turn the situation to his advantage would be more useful. "Aye, I am."   
  
"I had thought you would be older," Menéndez observed, leaning back in his chair.   
  
"People tend to," Jack agreed, mildly.   
  
"And I had not expected to find you aboard a merchant ship," the Spaniard went on. "Would you care to tell me why your ship is over there," he gestured, "and you are aboard my _Lucia_, pretending to be an ordinary pirate?"   
  
Jack steepled his hands before his face. "It's not like I'd have chosen," he said. "Mutiny, it was."   
  
"You let your crew take your ship?" Menéndez's eyes held mingled pity and scorn.   
  
"I didn't _let_ them take it," Jack said. "If y'r whole crew decides they want the ship, they'll have it. I might be Captain Jack Sparrow, but I can't fight twenty men and win."   
  
"So they ... marooned you, and you escaped?" Menéndez asked. "And you set sail on that merchant?"   
  
"'S'about it," Jack said. "Before you picked me up - and I'm very grateful to you, cap'n, for it."   
  
There was another long silence. By the door, Carpenter shifted his feet. The candle flame in the lantern swinging from the ceiling flickered.   
  
"We're in port," Menéndez said, eventually, speaking slowly. "This would be the ideal moment to put you off, Sparrow. Indeed you could rejoin your ship, if that is your wish."   
  
"I don't want merely to rejoin my ship," Jack said, leaning forward. "I want my ship. The _Black Pearl_ is mine. Savvy?"   
  
"And the _Lucia_ is mine," Menéndez returned. "_Sabes_?"   
  
"_Lucia_, yours," agreed Jack, hands fluttering. "Of course."   
  
"Mr Carpenter!" Menéndez said, looking up and at Carpenter.   
  
"Aye, cap'n?"   
  
"How long have you known this man?" The Spaniard indicated Jack.   
  
Carpenter cleared his throat. "I ... well, dunno, rightly, cap'n. He joined the _Pearl_ when just a lad, and sailed with her still when I went 'ome."   
  
"How long was that?"   
  
Glancing at Jack, Carpenter frowned. "Ten year?"   
  
"Aye, something like that," Jack said.   
  
"The lad had the uncanniest luck," Carpenter went on. "This one time ..."   
  
Jack shot Carpenter a sharp look, and flashed Menéndez a glittering grin. "Cap'n Menéndez don't need to know that, Elias. Suffice to say, cap'n, I've had the good fortune to get out of the odd scrape."   
  
"Not lucky enough to escape mutiny, though," Menénedez observed.   
  
"No," Jack said, "perhaps not." He met Menéndez's eyes. "Look, mate. I want my _Pearl_ back. I have no desires for your ship, lovely though she is. I can't go ashore and find men to help me take the old lady from that wretch Barbossa, 'cos he'll scarper before I get a chance to board. Now, if you'll loan me some lads, I'll nip over and win her back. Won't keep the men." He studied the Spaniard's face, which was impassive in the dim light. "Or," Jack went on, "you let me stay aboard the _Lucia_ under your command, as James Swift, and I'll bide my time."   
  
Menéndez pushed back his chair and stood up, crossing to a small barrel propped up in a corner and drawing himself a cup of wine. He drank deeply, standing by the stern windows, and then refilled the cup.   
  
"There is a third choice," he said, turning back to Jack. "I could put you ashore now, tonight, Sparrow. With no men."   
  
"Why would you do that?" Jack asked, trying to sound as if he had not thought of this option himself.   
  
The captain came to sit down again, putting his cup down deliberately on the table. "You're a dangerous man to have around, Sparrow. There are, you know, stories about you. You're unpredictable. You're dishonest. You take unnecessary risks."   
  
"I'm a pirate, Captain Menéndez," Jack said. "What else d'you expect? What are you, if not dishonest?"   
  
"I would never risk the life of my crew without cause!" Menéndez returned, some ire entering into his voice. "And I do not see your black ship across the harbour as due cause. _Además_, you boarded my vessel under a false name and with false credentials. I would rather you left."   
  
Jack leaned back, his mind whirring as he tried to think of something, anything, that would persuade this stiff, dry man to allow him to remain on board the _Lucia_. "You'll miss my blade," he said, eventually and rather desperately.   
  
"Enough!" said Menéndez. "You _will_ leave my ship, Captain Jack Sparrow. Any resistance and I'll send Mr Carpenter here with you."   
  
"That's a low blow, Captain Menéndez," Jack remonstrated. "But there you have me. Aye, I'm a dishonest man. I'm a thief and a pirate, a scoundrel and a rogue, and I'm not sorry for it." He stood up, dramatically. "But I _am_ honourable, and I'll not ruin another man with me. I'll leave your ship, and may luck go with you."   
  
"Jack!" said Carpenter.   
  
Jack turned, and put a hand on his old friend's shoulder. "Stay here, Elias. I don't know rightly what I'll do next, and there's no point both of us being bound to land. Thanks for getting me aboard - better than being headed for England on a merchant vessel, eh?" He swivelled on one foot, and gave Menéndez an elaborate bow. "_Gracias_," he said, before heading towards the door.   
  
Carpenter stopped him. "You'll be all right, lad?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.   
  
Smiling his widest, most charming smile, Jack nodded. "Of course. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?"   
  
He clapped Carpenter on the back in a friendly manner, tipped his hat to Menéndez, and left the cabin.   
  
Half an hour later, having collected his belongings, Jack was standing on the shore, watching the single swinging lantern of the _Lucia_'s skiff head back towards the ship. Over on the _Black Pearl_, a light shone in the captain's cabin, and Jack bitterly thought of Barbossa taking his ease there.   
  
He tightened his swordbelt, straightened his hat, and with a final, longing look at his ship, turned from the water.   
  
Avoiding the centre of Tortuga, Jack Sparrow slipped unerringly through the dark streets, heading out of town and up into the hills above. It had been years since he had walked this path, but his feet remembered it well enough, even in the dark.   
  
It was only dawn when he reached his destination. The sun was just rising, colouring the palm-leaf roof of the small building a gentle rose-pink. In the cleared ground around it, a few goats were rousing themselves from a peaceful night's doze, and were beginning to crop the grass. As Jack turned on to the dusty path leading to the building, a rooster flapped out of a coop, perched on top of it, and welcomed the morning with a lusty crow.   
  
Jack smiled, and settled down on the little bench outside the hut to wait for its occupants.   
  
They were not too long in stirring. After only a short while, smoke curled out of the vent in the roof, and an appetising smell of something cooking drifted into the air. Jack's stomach rumbled. He could hear people moving inside the building, and shortly the door opened.   
  
A slim figure emerged, stretched, and wandered over to the undergrowth two hundred yards or so distant. Jack took his hat off and tried ineffectually to straighten his clothes.   
  
On the way back from the undergrowth, the figure paused to pat one of the goats on the head and then by the chicken coop, reaching in to look for eggs. Three were found, and holding them carefully, the figure turned to go back to the hut.   
  
"Mornin', Ana," Jack said, standing up.   
  
Anamaria started, and nearly dropped the eggs. "_Cochon_!" she exclaimed.   
  
"Nice way t'greet an old friend," Jack said, mock-affronted.   
  
His old friend and erstwhile crewmate put the eggs down, crossed to him, and gave him a resounding slap on the face before throwing her arms around him.   
  
"I don't think," said Jack, returning the embrace, "I deserved that."   
  
"They said you were dead!" Anamaria said, stepping back and examining him critically.   
  
"Who said I was dead?" he asked.   
  
"People. In Tortuga. I was there last night, and I heard you were dead and the _Pearl_ was in the hands of that man Barbossa."   
  
"The last's true enough," Jack said, regretfully.   
  
"It was that gold," she said. "That cursed gold. Wasn't it?"   
  
He nodded. "Men lust after gold, same as they lust after lasses. Pirates more so. You know that yourself, love; you're a pirate too."   
  
Anamaria grunted, and bent to pick up her eggs. "Not at the moment," she said. "So, you're staying?" Jack did his best appealing look, and she shook her head in exasperation. "Come in. _Tante_ is cooking breakfast. But you'll have to work for your lodging, Jack Sparrow."   
  
He nodded, seriously. "Wouldn't think of anything else, love."   
  
"And don't call me love."   
  
"Anamaria."   
  
"Anamaria." He smiled at her, and followed her into the hut. 


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** 1) Thanks for all the feedback on dialogue for the last chapter - it was useful and reassuring! 2) Apologies for the length of time it's taken to get this chapter up. Real Life. It's a nuisance._  
  
----  
  
Jack stepped ashore, swayed, and put out a hand to a nearby helpful bollard to steady himself. The ground righted itself, and gingerly he let go of the bollard and looked about him with interest. Seagulls swooped and called their harsh cries, and the air smelt of fish and of salt. All around Jack were warm Yorkshire voices, advertising wares and shouting orders.   
  
"Swift!" Jack was roused from his reverie by his captain's shout. "Swift, get a move on!"   
  
He turned, and went to help with the unloading.   
  
He had stayed with Anamaria and her aunt in the small house above Tortuga Town for nearly seven months, helping them mind their little farm and doing bits of carpentry work for their acquaintances. From time to time he and Anamaria would take a small boat out fishing, thus satisfying Jack's sea longing. But their friendship had changed. It was built on comradeship and companionship, two sailors together - but a physical element had entered into it. When Jack was a young man, Anamaria had still been a girl. In the time she had spent away from him, she had become a lovely woman; exactly the sort of woman Jack went for. Spirited, opinionated, and unwilling to tolerate any patronising. And in odd moments he had found himself watching her as she moved around, her hair long and loose down her back and her eyes sparkling.   
  
He knew that Anamaria had long fancied him in her turn, and though she had not recently mentioned it, he reckoned that her feelings had, in all likelihood, not changed. There were only so many moments of physical tension Jack Sparrow could take, and eventually he decided to leave before he acted on his desire and ruined a good friendship.   
  
Leaving from Tortuga on a privateer, Jack jumped from ship to ship over the course of the next two years. Merchants, pirate vessels, fishing boats - he tried them all, crossing the Caribbean before moving south and then north. He had had no particular aim, save one day to regain the _Black Pearl_.   
  
Of her, little definite news was heard. The rumour was that she was terrorising the outlying islands, looting and killing, leaving no survivors. But Jack caught no sight of his beloved ship or her mutinous crew, and after a year of aimless sailing, he resolved to leave the West Indies and go back to England. And so he had left a pirate ship, the _Lady Marguerite_, and joined the _Rose_, a small merchant vessel bound for Whitby in Yorkshire. He was still using the name of James Swift, and the ruse seemed to be working. Every now and then someone would lower their voice and tell a tale of the dreaded _Black Pearl_ and her late lamented captain, Jack Sparrow. Jack listened with a small, grim smile on his lips, for the tales were not, after all, completely false. For the moment Jack Sparrow was dead.   
  
Now, in Whitby, the _Rose_'s cargo was being unloaded. She had come back heavily laden, untouched by pirates, and the goods stored in her hold would make her captain and the financial backers rich men. The sailors stood to earn a tidy profit, too, for their work on the voyage. Most of the men had said they would put the money aside to settle down, or else give it to their long-suffering wives waiting for them at home. Jack was unsure what to do with his.   
  
He accepted a crate of sugar cane from one of the other men, and trotted back down the gangplank with it. A cart had arrived to take the goods, and they loaded it quickly. As well as the sugar, the _Rose_ was carrying rum and textiles and other exotic produce.   
  
It took the crew two hours of hard work to empty the hold, and four cartloads of goods had clattered off along the cobbled harbour street by then. The sailors were summoned back on board by their captain, paid and given leave to go ashore.   
  
"Coming for a drink, Jim?"   
  
"Thought you had a lass waiting for you here, Dick," Jack said.   
  
Dick, a man of about Jack's age - though he looked older - smiled sheepishly. "I do. But if I go 'ome now, she'll not let me away again. So I'll have a few pints afore I go to her."   
  
"Sounds an admirable plan," said Jack, clapping Dick on the back. "Lead the way!"   
  
They were joined by three other crewmen from the _Rose_, Whitby men all of them. The little group walked up through the winding, sloping streets of the town; the old abbey on the hillside opposite and the harbour below. Dick led them to a cosy inn, named the 'Jolly Sailor', and they settled down with mugs of ale.   
  
"To the _Rose_, and a safe homecoming," said the oldest of the group, Amos.   
  
"To the _Rose_," the others echoed, their mugs touching. They drank deeply.   
  
"So," Dick said, "I'll be heading home to me wife, once we've warmed our stomachs a little. Reckon she'll be glad to see me?"   
  
"Overjoyed," said Jack, seriously.   
  
"My Annie will be," Amos said, wiping ale from his beard. "She's grown used to me not being there, but she's always happy to welcome me home. And I'll be right glad of her cooking."   
  
"Weeks o' ship's biscuit," agreed the fourth member of their group, the ship's cook Heppelthwaite.   
  
"Eh, you did a good job with what you had," Dick said, reassuringly. "That piece o' shark young Billy caught was tasty."   
  
Billy, at just 22 the youngest man on the crew, beamed at the praise. "I'll be going back to my folks," he said, swallowing a gulp of ale. "Reckon father'll want me to help him on his boat for a bit."   
  
They all looked at Jack. "What about you, Jim?" Amos asked. "You're not from these parts - will you be wanting to go south?"   
  
Jack drank deeply before replying. If he were honest with himself, he was not very sure what he was going to do. He had come to Whitby mainly to get away from the Caribbean for a bit, but it was true he had no roots in the town. He did not really fancy going south to Portsmouth, where there was a chance he would encounter people who knew Jack Sparrow - his father, if he were still alive; or, worse, Elsie Turner and her small son William, living reminders of the late Bootstrap Bill.   
  
"Mebbe," he said, grinning. "No plans, no ties ... none of these apron strings for me. Who'd want to be attached to one woman for the rest of his life?"   
  
"When the woman's my Annie," said Amos, his voice warmly satisfied, "there are no complaints. You'll find someone, Jim, mark me words." He nodded at Billy. "You too, lad."   
  
"Well," said Billy, "there's this lass ..." He jumped into a description of some pretty girl who worked as a seamstress, and Jack listened and thought of Anamaria's flashing dark eyes and slim body, wondering why he had left her.   
  
They stayed in the inn for an hour or so, downing another pint each before the married men agreed they should be heading to their wives, and Billy said he ought to be getting home for supper. Jack turned down their offers of a bed for the night, saying he'd either get a room in a tavern or sleep aboard the _Rose_. They bade him goodnight, and headed off in their separate directions.   
  
Jack wandered back down to the harbour, examining the various ships and boats at anchor, from small Whitby cobles to larger vessels like the _Rose_ herself. Lanterns shone from many cabins, as fishermen made preparations for the early start on the morrow. Aboard the _Rose_, though, all was dark, and Jack regretfully gave up his idea of sleeping aboard the ship. He turned around, and with his hands stuck in his sash began to wander back towards the busiest part of town to find a cheap room in an inn for the night.   
  
He paused to look at a pretty little fishing boat, her hull painted a salt-bleached blue, her sails tidily furled. Inscribed on the stern in neat black letters was the name 'Jenny'. As Jack ran his eyes over her lines, the lantern light below went out, and a figure came up on deck, closing the hatch to the cabin behind him. He looked up at Jack on the quayside.   
  
"Evening. Admiring my _Jenny_?"   
  
"Aye, I am." Jack nodded. "Pretty little boat."   
  
"She is that." The _Jenny_'s owner stepped ashore, casting a look back at the boat to check she was ready to be left. He nodded to himself, and then looked at Jack. "Why - you're not Jack Sparrow, are you?"   
  
Jack, automatically, prepared to deny his very existence, but he paused and peered back at the other man's face in the darkness. "Thornton?"   
  
"Aye," the old sailor said. "Thornton it is. But Jack! I never thought to see you here in Whitby?"   
  
"Never thought to come here," said Jack, "but things have turned strange, mate, since you left Tortuga all those years back."   
  
Thornton, once first mate aboard the _Black Pearl_, looked critically at Jack. "I see there's a deal of stories to be told," he said. "Come home with me and we'll tell them, and then if you're not busy tomorrow you can come out fishing."   
  
Jack looked at Thornton. His face was more lined now than it used to be, but still possessed piercing blue eyes under a mane of grey hair. The eyes, so far as he could see in the gloom of the Yorkshire evening, were pleased to see him. He returned Thornton's smile.   
  
"I'd be glad to," he said. "And a spot of fishing wouldn't go amiss, neither."   
  
Thornton turned, and led the way towards the bridge that crossed the harbour. "Tell the truth, I could do with your help," he said.   
  
"Then you have it!" said Jack.   
  
The old sailor nodded. "Ta. Before then, tell me what's become of the _Pearl_."   
  
Jack took a deep breath, and began. 


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Thanks to ErinRua for horsey advice! Thanks to reviewers for encouragement._   
  
----  
  
"You'll be able to leave the nag in York," Thornton said, "and get the stagecoach down south. You won't wait for a ship?"   
  
"I need to be moving again," Jack returned, patting the nose of his hired horse, "heading back for blue water. Can't be doing with this cold grey stuff you have up here."   
  
"Ah, it's proper sea up here," said Thornton, exaggerating his accent somewhat. "None of your warm Caribbean water, not in Yorkshire."   
  
"Besides," Jack said, taking the reins and climbing on to the horse's back, "I've seen a lot of the world, but not much of old England. Time I set that right, I reckon."   
  
Thornton nodded. "Mebbe you're right, lad, mebbe you're right. Well, I'm told you need to ride to York, and the coach leaves from the Black Swan on Coney Street at five on Thursdays. You've enough money?"   
  
Jack patted his pocket, which jingled. "Plenty."   
  
"Watch out for highwaymen," said Thornton, passing up a leather pouch of food. "They do say there's a deal of them about."   
  
Jack looked hopeful. "Bit of excitement wouldn't go amiss."   
  
"Mad. Absolutely mad," opined Thornton, shaking his head.   
  
"Not mad. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?"   
  
"Eh, you'll always be that cheeky cabin boy to me," Thornton said. "Look after yourself, Jack. Don't do anything daft."   
  
Sweeping off his hat, Jack bowed to his old friend. "Thanks, mate." He leaned down to his horse's ear. "Now, I want to get to York, nag, so giddy up and get me there."   
  
The horse neighed, reproachfully, but did lift its feet in a slow walk. Jack turned, and waved at Thornton, who waved back. Then the horse was off, hooves clip-clopping on the cobbles of the street.   
  
Three weeks of fishing with Thornton had been enough for Jack, and he had quickly grown tired of early mornings and days spent bobbing on the sea pulling in the catches. He had grown tired of fish scales in his wild hair too, though Thornton had sensibly pointed out that he should tuck the long braids up underneath a headscarf. And Whitby, pretty though it was, was simply too quiet for the adventure-loving pirate. After some thought and a little investigation, Jack had discovered that a stagecoach rattled its way from York to London every week for a reasonable price. The journey was fraught with danger - the roads were bad, and haunted by daring robbers - but it would get Jack south to somewhere where he could find a larger ship bound for warmer climates.   
  
He and the horse were quickly out of the town, following the road inland towards the moors. The horse was not the most comfortable of seats, but it was docile and kept moving, and that was all Jack really wanted. He let the animal have its head, and holding the reins loosely in one hand he took the time to look about him as they came on to the moors. The sun was rising and the wind was blowing quite strongly. Jack pushed his hat further on to his head. All around him were swathes of heather, blooming deep purple as far as the eye could see. As the wind blew, it rippled across the moor, reminding Jack of nothing so much as a gentle swell on the sea. He breathed in the sweet, heady scent and smiled. Maybe this being ashore thing was not so bad after all.   
  
Three hours later, he was less enamoured of the moors. They had been going on forever, it seemed, endless rolling hills of the same low plants. The horse plodded on, pausing now and then to nibble a bit of vegetation. Jack yawned, and bent down to pull some food out of the pack at his side. He pondered, briefly, getting off the horse for a rest, but decided it would be best to press on if he wanted to reach York by nightfall.   
  
The land flattened out as the afternoon grew on, the moors giving way to green farmland, and as the sun began to set Jack rode in to the ancient city of York through one of its many gates. He dismounted with a grimace, and staggered as his feet hit the ground.   
  
"Bloody hell!" he swore. The horse whickered reproachfully. "Not your fault, nag," Jack told it. "Just not used to riding, is all. C'mon, let's find us a place to sleep the night, eh?"   
  
He tugged at the reins, and the horse followed him docilely. Jack was unsure where to go, but looking up he could see the tall towers of a huge cathedral, and he headed in that direction. The street he was wandering down led into an open green space, with buildings looking out over the cathedral. Looking up, Jack whistled.   
  
"That's a sight and no mistake, innit?" he said to the horse. The horse shook its mane, and Jack grinned. "All right, you want something to eat, and so do I. On we go!"   
  
He followed the road around the cathedral, pausing to admire it at intervals. Built with pale stone, it towered above him, set with elaborate windows and carved intricately with statues, curlicues and weird heads. It was unlike anything Jack had ever seen before, though he had travelled halfway around the world.   
  
Turning away from the cathedral, he pulled the horse down a narrow cobbled street where the buildings seemed to lean in on either side. A stream ran down the gutter at the edge of the street. Various signs swung above doors - a wooden book, a plaque with a pair of shears - and Jack also marked a grinning red devil above a shop that looked like it might be a printer's.   
  
His legs were really aching now, and the horse was dragging its feet morosely. But to Jack's joy, on the other side of the street from the red devil there swung a more welcome sign. "The ... Starre Inne," he read to himself. "Wonderful."   
  
In the innyard, a lad came hurrying forward. "Hired horse from Whitby," Jack told him, putting a shilling into his palm. "Needs some fodder. So do I."   
  
"There's food and drink inside, sir," the lad said, taking the horse's reins.   
  
"Rooms?"   
  
"Aye, we've a few."   
  
"Good lad," Jack said. "Ta." He unfastened his pack from behind the saddle and followed the boy's pointing finger into the inn.   
  
Inside, it was busy and warm, the air filled with a buzz of chatter. Jack made his way through the crowds to the bar and ascertained that there was a room free for the night. Telling the innkeeper that he would eat before going up to sleep, he ordered a meat pie and sank gratefully into a chair in a quiet corner. His hat, pack and sword belt off, Jack leaned back and closed his eyes.   
  
The pie, and a pint of good ale, were quick to come, served by a buxom but sour-faced wench who did not return Jack's smile. He shrugged at her retreating back and set to. When the meal was finished, he stood (his legs protesting) and slowly made his way to his room. He threw himself down on the bed, and slept immediately.   
  
In the morning Jack discovered that he could barely walk. He hobbled downstairs and had some breakfast; the same serving girl plonked a plate of porridge down in front of him and stalked off. Once he had eaten, Jack stood up and painfully went out to explore York.   
  
He had spent little time in cities since his boyhood in Portsmouth. None of the Caribbean towns were as large as York, with its narrow, bustling streets and busy market. Jack wandered at random, the ache in his legs gradually dissipating as he strolled down cobbled snickelways and along by the river. He went into the cathedral, and discovered it was even more beautiful inside than out. Just as interesting were the people - ordinary folk, tradesmen and farmers, butchers and bakers. Jack himself cut an unusual, outlandish figure amongst them in his hat and sash and jingling beads, and he received many stares as he walked the streets. But they did not bother him, and he simply tipped his hat to the pretty girls, sending them into fits of giggles.   
  
By the evening, Jack's limbs were telling him they had had enough exercise, and so he went slowly back to his own inn to get some sleep before the journey that awaited him.   
  
In the morning he found his way to the 'Black Swan' inn, where the stagecoach was already waiting. An assortment of travellers stomped their feet in the early chill - an elderly couple, a priest, a respectable-looking mother with a child, and three other men on their own. Jack nodded a friendly good morning to them, and paid the driver his five-shilling fare. Soon, with baggage piled high on the back of the coach, and Jack and the other younger men perched on top, they were off.   
  
Nobody spoke much, and for once, Jack was quite pleased of the fact. He spent the time alternately watching the countryside go past and observing his fellow-passengers, sizing them up. None of the men riding with him seemed very interesting, or very wealthy.   
  
They stopped at midday for lunch and to change the horses, and during the afternoon some sporadic, polite conversation was made. Jack discovered that two of the men were going to London to find work, whilst the other was on his way to take up a scholarship at Oxford. For himself, he said merely that he had sailed from Jamaica aboard a merchant ship and that he was seeking another vessel in the capital.   
  
Their journey continued in the same, rattling way for another three days. It rained on the third day, and those on the roof huddled under coats looking miserable. Jack allowed the water to drip off the brim of his hat philosophically - this was nothing compared to a tropical storm, and he let himself drift away imagining the _Black Pearl_ driving her way across mountainous waves.   
  
On the fourth day, the rain stopped. They were quite far south now, and the local accents were changing together with the countryside. The road was flatter, and better, and the coach bowled along making good time. The young student started singing folk songs, and everything was cheerful and good-natured.   
  
Jack was travelling backwards, facing the road they had come from, and so it took him a moment to realise why the student had suddenly stopped singing and the coach had lurched to a halt. He twisted around, and saw in the middle of the road three masked horsemen, pistols drawn. One of them rode forwards, and, in a light, cheerful tone, said: "You know what to do, ladies and gentlemen. Stand and deliver - your money, or your life." 


	9. Chapter 9

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** See, I didn't keep you hanging on that cliff for too long! Some notes on highwaymen: the main ones I refer to are real. A Google search will bring up a number of sources - the Newgate Calendar is particularly interesting. I wanted to use Dick Turpin, but he lived much later. As a timecheck, we're now in spring 1678, and Jack has been away from the _Black Pearl_ for three years._  
  
----  
  
The highwayman's eyes glittered beneath his hat. "You on the roof. Get down."   
  
The other three men looked at each other, panic in their gazes, and then they began to climb down from the coach. Jack loosened the knife which he kept concealed in his sash, and followed them. As his feet touched the road, he allowed himself to stumble and to bump against the young student, his fingers slipping inside the lad's pockets to emerge with a heavy leather money pouch. Jack stowed the pouch away in one of his own voluminous pockets, and then stood next to his fellow travellers trying to look harmless.   
  
The leader of the highwaymen dismounted from his horse, passing the reins to one of his comrades before approaching the coach. With a quick slash of a knife, he cut the harnesses of two of the horses, and led them to the side of the road where he tethered them to the fence.   
  
"Sir, I beg you!" the driver protested. "I cannot drive further with only two horses!"   
  
"Exactly," said the highwayman, and he might have smiled beneath his mask. "Now, if you'd be so good as to hand over what money you have?"   
  
The driver looked down the barrel of the pistol, and dug into his pocket to bring out a purse. Taking it, the highwayman nodded his thanks, and moved on to the passengers.   
  
Those inside the carriage - the elderly couple, the priest, and the mother and child - had already climbed out, and were standing trembling in the road. The highwayman bowed slightly to them, and held out his hand. Evidently, the elderly couple had been expecting this, for they passed over a purse and several items of jewellery.   
  
"Father?" The highwayman looked quizzically at the priest.   
  
The old man shook his head. "I have very little, sir, that I can give you."   
  
"Very little is better than nothing. Come, Father, give me what you have."   
  
Jack, looking sideways, thought he saw a brief flicker of defiance in the priest's eyes, but it faded quickly and the highwayman soon had another pouch to add to his winnings. The mother and child did not dare to defy the robber, giving him more money and jewels.   
  
Now the highwayman, his pistol still cocked and ready to fire, approached the final four travellers. Wordlessly, the two job-seekers gave him what little they had, and the highwayman moved on to Jack.   
  
"Well, well," he said. "An unusual sort of passenger, sir."   
  
"So folk keep telling me," Jack agreed.   
  
"But like everyone else, you'll have possessions," the highwayman said, eyeing Jack's braided hair. "That sword, for example - nay, do not try and draw it!"   
  
"It has sentimental value," Jack said. "Been a long way with me."   
  
"No doubt. But I can sell it for more worth. What else do you have? Come, man, I don't have all day. Hand everything over."   
  
"What if I had a better solution?" Jack asked. "See here. You've taken the horses, ain't no way this coach is going anywhere else today."   
  
"That's true." The highwayman's eyes showed some interest. "Go on."   
  
"So how about," Jack pursued, hands fluttering distractingly, "you take not only my effects, but me as well?"   
  
"I do not need a handicap," said the highwayman, scornfully.   
  
"Oh, mate, I'd be no handicap to you," Jack said. "For a start, I know our good friend the driver over there has a stash of coins under his seat."   
  
Everyone turned to stare at the driver, whose mouth had dropped open. Eventually he closed it, and said: "How the blazes did you know that?"   
  
"Watched you count it the other morning," Jack said.   
  
The highwayman laughed. "And what if I said no? If I simply reached into your pocket, like this ..." he reached out a hand, and Jack moved, whipping out his knife and stopping the hand with it.   
  
"Then, I'm afraid I'd have to do something like this, savvy?"   
  
There was silence. Jack met the shadowed gaze of the highwayman, and for a moment neither of them moved. Then, the other man took his hand away, and nodded, sharply.   
  
"Very well. You can ride one of the coach horses."   
  
Jack slid the knife away, and bowed. "Thanks." He walked away until he was behind the protective range of the pistol. "By the way, no point searching the lad - I've got his cash already." He dangled the stolen pouch in the air.   
  
The student felt his pocket, and looked up in horror. Jack grinned, and went to mount one of the coach horses. The leader of the highwaymen mounted his own steed, and with Jack following, the robbers rode off.   
  
Jack's horse seemed glad to be out of harness, and cantered along quite cheerfully behind the highwaymen. But their journey was not long; in less than half an hour they stopped, in a forest clearing. One of the highwaymen took hold of Jack's horse, and the leader motioned to Jack.   
  
"Get down."   
  
Jack did so, relieved to be off the horse. The highwayman folded his arms.   
  
"Now, I don't know whether you consider yourself our prisoner or ..."   
  
"Guest," Jack put in.   
  
"Guest. If you wish. Nevertheless, I would ask that you hand over that money pouch you stole."   
  
"But I stole it," Jack pointed out.   
  
The highwayman pulled out his pistol, and cocked it. "We are the thieves, here, not you."   
  
Jack grinned. "We're all thieves, mate. I'm in the same line of business as you, you might say."   
  
"You're not one of us. I'd have heard." The pistol was lowered an inch.   
  
"Pirate," said Jack. "On leave. You rob the roads. I rob the seas."   
  
The highwayman raised his eyebrows. "Pirate? Well, that explains the ... unusual ... outfit. Got a name, sir?"   
  
Jack swept him a bow. "Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service, mate. You got one? Or a face?"   
  
"Hah." The highwayman laughed, shortly. "You have a point, Captain Sparrow." He raised gauntleted hands to his mask, and took it off, revealing the handsome, chiselled features of a man in his mid forties. "Richard Dudley. Gentleman of the road." He held out his hand, and Jack took it.   
  
"Pleased to meet you."   
  
Richard Dudley smiled, briefly. "Likewise. I think. This is highly unusual, captain. We've only ever taken goods before now."   
  
"I came along of me own volition," said Jack, pointedly. "I was heading south to look for a ship, but it strikes me that I wouldn't mind helping you gents out for a while. I can hold my own, Mr Dudley. Won't be a burden to you."   
  
"We'll see. You have a pistol, I notice."   
  
Jack touched the butt of his pistol, secure in its usual place, the single shot still loaded. "Aye, but I won't use it. I'll need to borrow one of yours."   
  
Dudley threw him a quizzical look.   
  
"It's a long story, mate," Jack said. "One I'll be glad to tell you, at some point. But we can't be resting here the night?"   
  
"No." Dudley made his pistol safe and holstered it. "No, we're not. It's another short ride to our resting-place."   
  
They mounted their horses once more, and headed further into the forest. The highwaymen seemed to know exactly where they were going, even in the dark, and Jack's horse followed the others obediently.   
  
At length, the light of a fire showed through the trees, and they dismounted and led the horses the final distance.   
  
In a new clearing, spacious and canopied by several large oaks, was a group of five men. They were seated around a campfire, wrapped in cloaks and blankets against the evening chill. As Dudley, Jack and the other two men arrived, the group looked up and greeted their fellows.   
  
"Good hunting?"   
  
"Not bad," said Dudley, tying his horse to a tree. "A reasonable haul of coins, some jewels, and a pirate."   
  
"A what?" Five pairs of eyes swung around to Jack.   
  
"A pirate," Richard Dudley said. "Gentlemen, let me present Jack Sparrow."   
  
"Captain!" said Jack. "_Captain_ Jack Sparrow."   
  
"Captain Jack Sparrow," repeated Dudley. "Who carried out as neat a piece of pickpocketing as I ever saw."   
  
"You didn't see it," Jack said, cheerfully.   
  
"Which is why it was neat," Dudley agreed. "George, have we a spare pistol?"   
  
"Aye, we've one from that haul from Lord Fanshawe the other week," one of the men said. "Why?"   
  
"Captain Sparrow needs one," Dudley said, "if he's to join us and be of any use."   
  
"Captain Sparrow has a pistol," someone pointed out.   
  
"Not one I'll use," Jack said.   
  
Dudley pulled a blanket from a pile, threw it around his shoulders, and settled down by the fire. "You promised me a story."   
  
"Then," said Jack, "you shall have it." And he was off, telling the tale of Barbossa's mutiny, weaving pictures with words and gestures. The highwaymen listened intently, laughing as Jack impersonated the characters in his story with outrageous accents, but they fell silent as he reached the climax of the tale and ended with himself marooned and alone.   
  
"Waste of a good pistol," opined George, eventually.   
  
"No," said Jack. "It'd be a waste of a good shot were I to use it on anyone save Barbossa."   
  
"But you can use a pistol?" Dudley asked, passing him an ornate, enamelled example and some powder and shot.   
  
Jack took the weapon, squinted down the barrel, opened it up, loaded it, and cocked it. "I can use a pistol," he said. "I'm a pirate. Knowing how to use a weapon is what you might call important."   
  
"Knowing when not to fire is just as important," Dudley said.   
  
Their eyes met. Jack smiled, slightly. "Aye. That's true enough."   
  
"Then we understand one another, you and I," said Dudley. "Come, take a blanket, sit down. I think we owe you a tale, Captain Sparrow."   
  
Jack wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and settled down by the fire, the highwaymen making room for him.   
  
"James, give him the tale of Swiftnicks," Dudley said. There was a chorus of approval, and James - a stout, dark-haired man - began the story of a daring ride between London and York. Jack listened with interest as the flickering firelight illuminated the faces of his new companions, and wondered what would happen next. 


	10. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
_----  
  
Jack waved the pistol in his victim's face. "C'mon, mate, hand it over. Nobody travels with no money."   
  
The man shook his head, violently. "No - I tell you, I have nothing!"   
  
Jack sighed, and cocked the pistol. "You and I both know better than that. Look, I know it's a nice night and all - lovely stars - but there's other people waiting here."   
  
"Please don't shoot." The man was cracking, Jack could see.   
  
"Don't give me a reason to shoot."   
  
"All right!" Delving in his pockets, the man pulled out not one money bag, but three, and threw them on the ground at Jack's feet. Bending so that his eyes - and the pistol - remained fixed on his victim, Jack picked them up and stowed them away.   
  
"Thank you, sir." He moved on to the next trembling coach passenger, a woman wrapped in an unseasonably thick cloak. She had the hood up, veiling her face, and Jack reached out to pull it down.   
  
She flinched backwards, and he lowered the pistol an inch. "Not goin' to hurt you, love, just want to see your face."   
  
The woman looked up, showing the glint of damp eyes, and this time she let him pull the hood down. Long dark hair fell around her shoulders, and Jack grinned appreciatively. There were too few attractive women on the road. She met his gaze defiantly.   
  
"Do your worst."   
  
"I only want your valuables, me dear," he said. "Jewels, coins, suchlike."   
  
She glared at him, and wrenched a pearl necklace off. This was swiftly followed by matching earrings, a gold bracelet, and an embroidered pouch heavy with silver. Jack pocketed the things and gave her a little bow.   
  
"Ta." He began to move on.   
  
"You really only wanted my valuables?"   
  
Jack turned back. "Not all thieves are such scoundrels, love. I don't know what it is that's been done to you in the past, but don't tar us all with the same brush, savvy?" He swung around on his heel, and swiftly liberated the rest of the passengers' money and jewellery. In a few short minutes, he was mounted on his borrowed horse and riding away with Richard Dudley, who had stayed back and watched the robbery from a distance.   
  
"You're getting good at this," Dudley said, holding the reins easily with one gloved hand.   
  
"Riding or stealing?" Jack asked. "The first I could do without. The second I've been doing for years."   
  
"I beg your pardon," Dudley said. "I meant the art of robbery on the highways. Surely it's very different from piracy?"   
  
Jack tried to get comfortable in the saddle. "Not especially. Stopping the coach ain't as exciting as stopping a ship - no cannon, no wind to play with, no grapples - but the rest is the same. Little threat, little chatter. There aren't many folk who'd rather give up their life than their money."   
  
"True enough," Dudley agreed. "But do you not try and win the ships too?"   
  
"What would I want with another ship?" Jack questioned. "A man can only sail one vessel at a time. No, it's the stuff on board we take - the goods they're trading, their weapons, some supplies. Then we retreat, stow the swag, and sail off nice and quick so's they can't catch us."   
  
Dudley flashed him a grin. "In that case I am in accord with you. Pirates and highwaymen are more akin than I'd thought." He turned his horse into a narrower lane that led to the abandoned farmhouse where the little band of highwaymen were currently living. "We're planning on heading northwards in a few days."   
  
"Ah." Jack gave his horse a kick with his heels to encourage it to follow Dudley's.   
  
"You are more than welcome to stay with us," Dudley continued. "You're a useful man to have around, Jack. But I do not know if you have other plans?"   
  
Jack shrugged. "Not as such. I'm minded to carry on south, look for a ship."   
  
"Missing the sea?" Richard Dudley asked, as they rode into the farmyard. He dismounted quickly from his horse.   
  
"Aye." Jack climbed down a little slower. "Same as you'd miss the road, if you left it."   
  
Dudley began to lead his horse towards the stables, and Jack followed. The highwayman looked over his shoulder at the pirate. "I would miss the life, miss the excitement. I would not miss forever hiding from the law, and I would not miss being closed up in Newgate Gaol."   
  
"Prisons are nasty places," Jack agreed. "Spent much time in Newgate?"   
  
"Long enough." Dudley shuddered, visibly. "I was nearly hanged, but my friends intervened and won me a pardon."   
  
"Useful," observed Jack, as they coaxed the horses into stalls, took off their harness, and began to brush the animals down.   
  
"Highly," Dudley said, smiling. "I fully expect the noose one day, but not yet." He heaved some hay into the manger, and gave his horse an affectionate pat on the nose. "There you go, boy; a well-earned rest."   
  
Jack brushed his hands off. "The fun," he said, "is escaping the noose. And the prisons. There was this time in India ..."   
  
The two men went into the farmhouse together, to join their fellows and count the winnings from the evening. And Jack, as he told the story of his daring escape from the East India Company, realised that although he had found companionship and even friendship, unlooked for on the road, he was missing the sea. By the end of the evening - after Richard Dudley had given a colourful account of Newgate, and some of the other men had told equally outrageous tales of outmanoeuvring the law - Jack was resolved to continue his journey south.   
  
Three days later, the highwaymen left the farmhouse, their mounts laden with their belongings. On the main road, they paused, and Richard Dudley dismounted.   
  
"Well, Captain Sparrow, here we must bid you farewell - if you're still decided to go to London."   
  
"I've not changed me mind," Jack said. He pulled his borrowed pistol from his belt. "Here - this is yours. I don't need it."   
  
"We have plenty more," Dudley said.   
  
Jack turned the butt towards the highwayman. "I've got my sword, and my wits. Take it."   
  
Dudley did, and nodded. "Thank you, Jack. I'm glad we came across you." He dug in a pocket, and took out a money bag. "You've earned this."   
  
"Ta." Jack tucked the bag away. "I have. Well, best be off. Good luck, and a fair wind, and hope I don't meet you gents again locked up somewhere."   
  
"Luck to you, too," Dudley said. "Hope you find your ship."   
  
Each man mounted his horse, and with a click of his teeth Dudley kicked his mount into motion. The highwaymen, with calls of farewell to Jack, rode off in a cloud of dust.   
  
More slowly, Jack shook the reins. "London Town, horse," he said. "Hope you know the way, 'cos I don't."   
  
It was another two days' ride to London. The road grew busier as Jack got closer, but he did not try to rob anyone. The money that Dudley had given him would last for a while, and he preferred to arrive in the capital city with his reputation still to be built.   
  
He rode into London slowly, looking around him with interest. York had been busy. London was packed with people, rushing around on their everyday business. The stench in some of the streets was appalling; a mixture of unwashed bodies, human and animal waste, offal, rotting vegetables. Jack wound the free end of his headscarf around his mouth and nose and longed for the fresh salt air of the sea.   
  
Finding a room in a tavern was easy - the problem was which tavern. There seemed to be thousands of them, with a variety of brightly-coloured signs. Following his nose, Jack rode into the centre of the city, and chose an inn near the wide fast river.   
  
The next task was to sell the horse. Quick enquiries directed him to a "man who bought such things", and indeed the man was willing to pay a guinea for the animal. Jack was glad to see the last of it. He admitted to himself that a horse was useful for getting around, but he had not particularly enjoyed riding one.   
  
Armed with the proceeds from the sale, he settled down in his tavern to get comfortingly drunk before starting the search for a ship the next day. There were several handsome girls drifting around, and after a bit two of them came to sit down next to him. When Jack retired to bed that night, a pretty blonde went with him, and proceeded to welcome him to London in the best way possible.   
  
The morning brought a grey drizzle, and a headache. The girl had slipped away at some point, and Jack awoke alone and several shillings poorer. He hauled himself out of bed and dressed.   
  
There was a small, tarnished looking-glass propped up on a dresser, and Jack picked it up to look into it. He started. The man staring back at him was unrecognisable - his tan, gained from years of sailing tropical waters, was beginning to fade, and it had been months since he had bothered with the kohl around his eyes. He brushed at the hair hanging down into his face, and thoughtfully reached up to the back of his head, where his thick braid was unravelling.   
  
Half an hour later, Jack Sparrow was walking the banks of the Thames, his hair newly braided, and a few more beads jangling cheerfully over his brow. There were a number of ships moored to the riverbank, here where the water was wide, and he strolled along with his hands behind his back, examining them with an expert's eye. At length, he selected a newish, good-sized merchant ship, and setting his shoulders back, lifted his voice to hail it. 


	11. Chapter 11

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Timecheck: it's now 1678. Many thanks for the continued support and encouragement. It really is very much appreciated._  
  
----  
  
Jack looked up and down the Portsmouth street, and raised his eyes above the door once more. There was no sign. There should have been a sign, a faded wooden one bearing the sign of a small bird in flight, a tree and an axe.   
  
There was nothing.   
  
He took off his hat, rubbed his brow, and put his hat back on again.   
  
"Are you looking for something?" A man paused on his way down the street.   
  
Jack looked upwards again. "Michael Sparrow's carpenter's shop."   
  
"Sparrow's? Closed five year ago."   
  
"Closed?" Jack said.   
  
"When the carpenter died," the man elaborated. "Drink, they said. Never really got over his lad running away to turn pirate."   
  
"Oh." Jack looked up at the space where the shop sign used to swing. "Drink?"   
  
"So they say." The man shrugged. "Left a load of debt."   
  
"Doesn't surprise me." Jack stuck his thumbs in his sash. "Don't s'pose you know where they put him, do you?"   
  
"Old Sparrow?" Scratching his head, the man thought for a moment. "St Mary's, I reckon." He shot Jack a curious look. "Why?"   
  
Jack cast a last glance at the shop. "Just wonderin', mate, just wonderin'. Thanks for the help. Much obliged."   
  
He touched a hand to his hat, and walked off.   
  
He knew the way to St Mary's church, of course. As a boy, he had spent a little time there; the vicar, a decent man, had taught him to read and write, and Jack and his father had gone to Sunday services from a sense of duty. It was not far from the harbour, and his feet took him there automatically, as he mulled over the news.   
  
If Jack were being honest with himself, he had half-expected to find that his father was dead. The two had not spoken since Jack had returned to Portsmouth fairly early on in his piratical career - blows were exchanged, and they parted on bad terms. The meeting was simply a continuation of years of anger and complaints between the two of them. Michael Sparrow was a hard man, bitter with grief at his wife's death, resentful of his son's lively wit and intelligence. Jack's childhood was a storm of disputes, arguments, and unpleasantness. Yet, as he entered the churchyard, automatically taking off his hat, there was an ache in his heart.   
  
He walked up and down the rows of gravestones until he found a small, plain, modest headstone marked with the words "Michael Sparrow, 1621 - 1673. _Requiescat in pace_."   
  
"Well," said Jack, "least they gave you a stone." He paused. "You'd be pleased, father. Not doing so well, now, me. Lost my ship. Lost my crew. About to sail south on yet another bloody merchant ship." He bent, and pulled up some dandelions that were pushing their way up around the edge of the gravestone. "The shop's sold, though. Doesn't seem to be a shop now. All that work you put in - made me put in - building it up, for nothing. Wasted it on drink, apparently. Nice work, father. Very nice work."   
  
He stood and stared at the gravestone for a while, but he had run out of words.   
  
Eventually, Jack turned and began to make his way out of the churchyard, uncharacteristically staring at the ground. Close to his father's grave were a number of other small, plain headstones - marking the last resting places of those who could not afford grander monuments. One of them caught Jack's eye, and he paused, turned, and went back to look at it.   
  
"Elspeth Turner," he read. "Beloved mother." The stone said nothing more.   
  
Jack read the words through another time. "Blast!" he said, his voice breaking the silence of the graveyard.   
  
"You knew her?" Jack had not heard the footsteps come up behind him, and he swung around, one hand going automatically to his sword hilt.   
  
The vicar, leaning heavily on a stick, smiled back at him in a benign sort of way. Jack let his hand fall away from the sword and float languidly into the air.   
  
"Aye, Reverend, I did. Knew her husband better."   
  
"William Turner? Then perhaps you'd know what became of him. Their son sailed to find his father a year ago."   
  
"Dead too," Jack said, looking back at Elsie Turner's gravestone. "There'll be no-one for the boy to find."   
  
"Poor lad." The vicar seemed sad to hear the news. "Ah well, maybe he can start a new life. I am sorry for the loss of your friends."   
  
"Thanks, Reverend," Jack said.   
  
The vicar nodded, and began to turn around. "Come into the church with me - I have something to show you."   
  
"I have to get back to my ship."   
  
"Ah, you can spare a few moments for an old man, now, can't you?"   
  
Faced with that, and with memories of this same man bending patiently over a Bible, spelling out words, Jack shrugged. "Aye, reckon I can."   
  
He followed the vicar into the old church, quiet and peaceful and cool. The sun slanted through the two stained windows, sketching coloured patterns on the flagstones of the floor. Nothing had changed since Jack was a boy - the font stood in its old place, the pews ranged neatly in the nave.   
  
The vicar led him to one of the pews and sat down stiffly. He pointed to a corner, the place where the end of the pew met the narrow shelf to rest books and elbows on. "Remember that, Jack?" he asked.   
  
Jack, about to enter the pew and sit down next to the vicar, eyed him narrowly. "Eh?"   
  
"I never forget a face," the old man said mildly. "Though yours is older now, and you've done something odd with your hair, I still recognise you. Jack Sparrow. Used to practise your carpentry on our pews." He ran gnarled fingers over the wood. "Look."   
  
Sliding into the pew and sitting down, Jack looked. A smile crossed his face, and he reached out to touch the small carving. Chiselled into the wood by inexpert hands, a little bird was taking flight, wings spread as it soared towards a crudely-sketched sun. He had a sudden memory of himself, bored by a sermon, kneeling for prayers, scratching away with a tool purloined from his father's workshop.   
  
"Took me weeks," he said. "Every Sunday, I chipped away at it."   
  
"I chose not to get it sanded away," said the vicar, resting his hand on his stick. "I was sorry when you left, Jack. You may have been a little rascal, but you were bright."   
  
"Still am both," Jack said with a grin.   
  
"I don't doubt it." The vicar looked hard at him. "What we heard was true, then - you ran away to become a pirate?"   
  
Jack stroked the sparrow carving. "No. I ran away to sea. Didn't rightly realise they were pirates, then. I needed that freedom, Reverend. I'd have been a very bad carpenter." He paused, thinking back to the moment he decided upon the _Black Pearl_ as his vessel of choice. "And I fell in love, with a ship."   
  
"But piracy - it is not an honest trade," the vicar said, slight disapproval in his voice. "We hear bad things about pirates."   
  
"Well, you'd not hear the good stuff," Jack pointed out. "I'm a thief, 'tis true; I've stolen and looted and lied. But I've got me sense of honour, Reverend - savvy?"   
  
"I am glad to hear it," said the vicar. He leaned back in the pew. "So what brings you to Portsmouth, Jack? Did you come on this ship you fell in love with?"   
  
"No. No, she's not here. I'm ..." Jack hesitated. "I'm with a merchant ship, and that's all I'm willin' to say. Nothing personal, Reverend, but I've learned not to trust too many folk over the years. I'd be obliged if you forgot you met me. Jack Sparrow's not in town."   
  
The vicar raised bushy eyebrows. "Is he not?"   
  
"James Swift. Jim. For the moment." Jack glanced at his childhood carving. "Just for the moment." He rose. "Better be off. Tide to catch."   
  
"I'm glad I bumped into you," the vicar said. "Take care, and God's blessing be upon you, Jack. Though you may have chosen a path of ... of dubious morals, He'll still be looking out for you."   
  
"I'm glad you think so, Reverend," Jack said. He nodded at the old man, and quickly left the church.   
  
He walked quickly now, back to the harbour and the merchant ship he was sailing on. Not the first that had caught his eye along the Thames, but a fair vessel nonetheless and a decent enough crew. They were taking a cargo of delicate porcelain, crated and packed with straw, and a number of other items south to Spain and North Africa. The destination did not really concern Jack - he had simply had enough of England, and longed for warm skies and blue water once more. And maybe, just maybe, a glimpse of the _Pearl_ at some point, and a chance to take her.   
  
His ship was moored alongside the harbour - no need to take a rowing boat out to her. The gangplank was down, and supplies were still being taken aboard. Jack turned, and took a last look at the town where he had grown up. It was bustling, busy, lively, but he found he had no love for it any more. His home was far from England now, upon the wide open seas with the wind in black sails and a rich prize to catch. The small boy who had whiled away hours vandalising a church pew was gone. In his place, the seasoned sailor bent to pick up a cask of salted meat and carry it on board the ship. He was eager to be off, to get back to where he truly belonged.   
  
And when the ship sailed, drifting out of Portsmouth harbour with the evening tide, Jack Sparrow was aloft with his face turned towards the open sea. He gave the town no further thought. 


	12. Chapter 12

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Senegal in the late seventeenth century was a French colony - the legacy survives today in the official language, which is still French. Modern-day Dakar was the hub of the slavery trade, with prisoners setting sail from Dakar for the West Indies and America. A translation of the French conversation can be found at the bottom of the chapter. Enjoy!_  
  
----  
  
Jack clung to a spar, and watched as the bow of the ship rose up in the air. The hull was battered and salt-encrusted, dripping water and weed. And then, with a tremendous creak and a splash, the bow disappeared below the surface. Soon, all that was left of the vessel were pieces of driftwood, canvas, and bobbing barrels in the waves.   
  
The waves. Jack wrapped his arms more securely around the spar, and considered the waves for a moment. They were huge, amongst the biggest he had ever seen, and he was currently being tossed up and down upon them in a highly uncomfortable and dangerous manner. Every other wave shot over his head, dunking him in cold salt water before he rose up on the crest of the next one. It was not a good position to be in. Around him, other wet heads bobbed - the other survivors of the wreck. Precious few; too few.   
  
The merchant ship, the _Nancy_, had been beating steadily south, and was off the coast of Senegal when the storm hit. Two weeks earlier they had been becalmed further north, and the captain was eager to make up the lost time. Accordingly he kept - to Jack's mind - too much canvas on the masts, and ordered the crew to reef only when the ship had already taken a lot of damage. The very fabric of the vessel was weakened by her long struggle with the weather, and when the wind gusted again the foremast was torn down. It came crashing across the deck, and the helmsman panicked. In short order, the ship was in disarray. Trying to lower a boat into the water for escape was a disaster; the lines snapped and the boat went crashing into the side of the larger vessel.   
  
Jack had quietly abandoned his post when the foremast came down, and so he was ready - coat on, sword belt fastened tightly, hat rolled up and pushed into his sash - when the order to abandon ship came. He marked a large piece of wood floating in the water and dived off the rail towards it, and it was this that probably saved his life. Many of the other sailors were swept back towards the sinking ship as they jumped, to be sucked under the water and drowned. Others could not swim, and Jack, helplessly clinging to his spar, watched as they screamed and splashed before finally succumbing. He wished he could have swum to their aid, but the waves were simply too high to make any headway. So he hung on, grimly.   
  
Over the course of the next few hours, as the storm continued, Jack Sparrow found himself reflecting on the life that had brought him to this juncture. He was not used to being at the mercy of the sea. Aboard a ship, he had some control - not much, admittedly, in weather like this, but some. He remembered riding out storms at the helm of the _Black Pearl_, and retiring sodden, tired and exhilarated to his cabin when the wind subsided. He remembered days sitting on watch at the top of the mainmast, the world spread out below him, a glistening blanket of blue. He remembered the day he had first seen the golden islands of the Caribbean following weeks crossing the Atlantic. It had been a good life, and he did not want it to end just yet.   
  
Eventually, the wind dropped. The rain stopped, and the waves lessened, and Jack found himself exhausted but alive. He gladly laid his head down on the spar and closed his eyes, drifting into a deep sleep.   
  
When he woke, Jack was surprised to find that beneath him were not the deep, impenetrable depths of the Atlantic, but hard wooden boards. He seemed to be a little drier too, though as he rolled over someone said with a laugh: "_Il est trempé jusqu'aux os_!"   
  
Jack registered the words and their meaning before he registered the language in which they were spoken, but he was unsurprised to hear the French. Last time he had seen a chart they were sailing close to the French territory of Senegal, whose waters were busy with French naval, merchant and slaving vessels. As Jack opened his eyes, he found himself weighing up the options in his mind. Being an Englishman was bad enough; being a pirate could, potentially, be fatal, and he decided quickly to play things carefully until the nature of his rescuers was made clear.   
  
Looking down at him was a short, wiry Frenchman with a truly incredible moustache. Jack blinked at the moustache.   
  
"_Il s'est réveillé_," the Frenchman said.   
  
"_Bien. Levez-le_." The new voice was harsher and more authoritative than the first, and must have come from the captain of the vessel. The moustachioed one took Jack's arm and hauled him to his feet.   
  
Staggering a little, Jack stood dripping on the deck of this French ship. The captain, arms folded, regarded him coolly.   
  
"_Ça va_?" he asked, eventually. "_Tu parles français, non_?"   
  
Jack reached up slowly to wring out his sodden locks, and noted that the hands of three men loitering nearby went straight to their swords. The corners of his mouth quirked, but he deliberately squeezed his hair out before responding.   
  
"_Alors_?" the captain demanded.   
  
"_Oui_," Jack said, hair a little less wet. "_J'en parle, un peu_." Or at least, he added silently to himself, he spoke scraps of French liberally sprinkled with seamen's oaths and Anamaria's Creole. He was not sure that these Frenchmen would understand or appreciate that.   
  
The French captain nodded sharply. "_Bon. Alors, t'es à bord le _Poulette_. Je suis le capitaine Chabert. Et toi_?"   
  
Jack found himself becoming irritated at Captain Chabert's use of the familiar "tu" form, but he forced himself to stay calm. Instead of launching out, he flashed Chabert a cheerful grin, and said, "Jim Swift."   
  
"_T'es anglais_?"   
  
"Just a sailor, cap'n," Jack said. "No allegiance to anyone."   
  
The moustachioed sailor - bo'sun? mate? - translated for the captain in a low voice, and the captain nodded.   
  
"_Et tu peux expliquer ça,_ Swift?" Chabert gestured, and his wiry mate crossed to Jack and pulled up his right sleeve. Jack looked down at the old brand of the East India Company, realising that a pretty thorough search of his person had been made while he was unconscious.   
  
"I do not like pirates," the captain hissed, in strongly accented English.   
  
"Evidently," said Jack, tugging his arm away from the man with the moustache.   
  
"_Assez_," Chabert said, turning away. "_Conduisez-le en bas, monsieur Bonnasse_."   
  
"_Oui, capitaine_." Bonnasse took Jack's arm again, and hauled him below decks.   
  
It was gloomy and very stuffy even on the first level, but Bonnasse, his eyes above the moustache full of anger and hatred for the pirate in his keeping, took Jack lower. They descended two more sets of steps before Bonnasse bent to raise a trapdoor. He pushed Jack down, and they entered a dark, dank, stinking hold. Jack gulped as he breathed in the putrid air; he noticed that Bonnasse had pulled up a scarf to cover his nose and mouth.   
  
"Sweet Neptune, what is this?" he said. The Frenchman pushed him forwards, taking a lantern from the wall by the steps and lighting it.   
  
Jack stopped walking. In the flickering candlelight he could see eyes - hundreds of pairs of terrified, pained eyes, and he realised now that there was a soft noise of weeping too.   
  
"Move!" Bonnasse kicked his ankle, and Jack stumbled forwards into the darkness, the lantern shedding a small pool of light around him. There was a narrow passage leading up the middle of the hold, but on either side of it were rows and rows of people. Men, women, even some children; all dark-skinned Africans, chained to each other and to the side of the ship. The place stank of their sweat and fear and waste. As Jack passed them, they called to him in several different languages, imploring him for help.   
  
Bonnasse ignored the captives, pushing Jack on to the bow of the vessel, where two small iron brigs stood. In one, Jack could see a number of paler-skinned figures, cramped together on the ground. The other was empty, and Bonnasse unlocked it and shoved Jack inside.   
  
"Plannin' on selling us too, mate?" Jack asked, gripping the bars of the cage with his hands.   
  
The Frenchman pocketed the keys to the brig. "You, we shall hand over to the English authorities. I am sure you will fetch a nice price. Your friends, _là-bas_," he indicated the other cage, "they we shall sell." He grinned unpleasantly, and disappeared, taking the lantern with him.   
  
Jack gave the iron bars a good hard shake. "Damn!" he said, aloud.   
  
"Jim?" There was movement from the other cage. "Jim Swift?"   
  
"Aye." Jack peered into the gloom. "Crew of the _Nancy_?"   
  
"Aye. Thought you were dead, 'long with the other poor bastards."   
  
"Might as well be," Jack said, finding it hard to say something cheerful in this situation.   
  
"Why've they locked you up separate?" one of the merchant sailors asked.   
  
"Ah." Moving carefully, Jack settled down on the floor with his back against the brig's bars. "It's a bit complicated."   
  
"We have all day. If it is day," someone else said, his voice full of misery.   
  
"Yes, it's day. Stopped raining, too. Storm's passed over."   
  
"Well, explain, then, Jim."   
  
"It's on account of me being a buccaneer," Jack said. "And the brand I picked up in Chennai twenty years back."   
  
There was incredulous silence from the other brig. Then, "East India Company?"   
  
"The same."   
  
"I heard they branded pirates," the mate of the _Nancy_ said, "but I never ..." his voice tailed off. "Blimey."   
  
"Sorry to have misled you," said Jack, but the apology was empty and they all knew it.   
  
"So they're going to sell you over to the Navy?"   
  
Jack nodded, before remembering that in the darkness they would not be able to see. "Aye," he said, "and they'll sell you too, to someone."   
  
"But we're ... we're Englishmen!" one of the _Nancy_'s crew exclaimed.   
  
"And there are other Europeans not averse to using you just as they'll use those other poor bastards, savvy?" Jack said, pitying his former crewmates.   
  
"Oh God," moaned the sailor, in the gloom.   
  
"They'll hang you," the mate said. "Won't they, Jim?"   
  
Jack drew his legs up to his chest and rested his arms on his knees. "Very likely. And since that's the case, I'd rather die as meself. It's Jack Sparrow - Captain Jack Sparrow."   
  
"I won't say pleased to meet you," said the mate, "given the situation."   
  
"That's all right," Jack said. "Given the situation."   
  
They subsided into silence, and the only noises were the water lapping at the hull of the ship somewhere above their heads, and the keening of the prisoners. Jack leaned his head against the bars of his cage, and closed his eyes.   
  
----  
  
The gist of the conversation in French:  
- He's soaked to the skin! [...] He's awake.  
- Get him up. How are you? You speak French?  
- A little.  
- You're on board the _Poulette_. I'm Captain Chabert. You? [...] You're English? [...] And can you explain that? [...] Enough. Take him below, Mr Bonnasse. 


	13. Chapter 13

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
The captives staggered as they came up on deck, blinking in the sunlight. It seemed impossibly bright after days confined to the dark. Jack shaded his eyes with his hand and looked out at the water. No land. He judged they were nearly across the Atlantic, given the time they had spent at sea.   
  
One of the French sailors threw a bucket over the side and hauled it up, dousing the prisoners with cold salt water.   
  
"Heck, that's good," the _Nancy_'s mate Roger said, closing his eyes against the shower.   
  
"It'll dry hard," someone else said, morosely.   
  
"_Taisez-vous_!" their French guard snapped.   
  
"He says shut up," Jack said, water running down his face.   
  
"Bastards," Roger muttered.   
  
Their short bathe over, the captives were hustled back down to the hold. The African slaves looked up at the sailors with dead, empty eyes. They had long since given up begging for their freedom, and the long dark hours were silent, broken only by sporadic conversation from cage to cage. Jack told the odd tale of piracy to try and cheer up his fellow-prisoners (and himself, if he were to be honest). In turn, the merchant sailors reminisced over previous voyages, and remembered those men who had died in the shipwreck.   
  
It was a deeply miserable two weeks. The sailors from the _Nancy_ grew steadily more morose, and were unable to hide this from their French captors. Jack kept going with sarcastic, cheerful retorts, flashing his gold grin whenever an opportunity came up, but even his incorrigible spirit was slowly dying inside. There seemed to be no way off this nightmare vessel. Occasionally, a lantern would be brought down to the hold and shone along the lines of shackled prisoners, and a body would be unlocked and carried off, presumably to be thrown overboard. Jack knew that was an option - death, and endless sleep in the arms of the waves - but he did not _want_ to die, not yet.   
  
They were not fed enough either. The _Nancy_'s crew occasionally dreamt aloud of the meals they would have when ashore again. Jack just wanted a tot of rum, and a quiet place on the _Black Pearl_ to drink it. Since he did not expect either in the near future, he pushed the thought to the back of his mind and attempted not to think about it.   
  
Eventually, the sound of the water rushing against the hull of the ship began to change, and when they were taken on deck seabirds were circling overhead. Landfall was near. The conversation between the brigs changed now, to what might befall them. Jack suggested that the merchant sailors, presuming they were to be sold as slaves, either attempted to barter their freedom after the sale, or tried to escape.   
  
"And then I'll meet you in Tortuga," he said.   
  
"Tortuga?" repeated Roger.   
  
"North o' Hispaniola," said Jack. "Island. Wonderful town. Everything a man needs - rum, girls, ships."   
  
"Pirate town, ain't it?" someone else asked.   
  
"Aye, and I'm a pirate," Jack pointed out. "Meet me in Tortuga."   
  
"How are you planning on getting there?" Roger said. "Considering they want to hang you."   
  
"They won't hang me," Jack said, his voice radiating easy confidence. "If they do, I won't be the surprised one."   
  
"Tortuga, then," said Roger, but it was clear he expected none of them to make it.   
  
A day later, there were shouts from above, and the ship slowed. Jack stood up, and listened intently.   
  
"Are we hove to?" one of the sailors asked.   
  
"Reckon so. Shhh."   
  
A short while later, Bonnasse came down into the hold with two of the burly French crew and a pair of iron shackles. They unlocked Jack's cage, manacled his wrists, and dragged him out. He just had time to turn and say, "Tortuga!" to the crew of the _Nancy_ before he was being hauled up on deck.   
  
The sun was even stronger now, and it took Jack several long moments before he could see anything. By that time the Frenchmen had dragged him across to the rail and he was being lowered into a boat. Someone threw down a bundle, and Jack recognised - to his joy - his sword belt, coat and hat. They cast off, and he looked around to see a frigate, painted in the smart dark brown and beige of the English Royal Navy.   
  
The French vessel, the _Poulette_, turned out to be better maintained on the outside than she was on the inside. She looked like a respectable merchant square-rigger, flying correct French colours augmented, for the moment, by a white flag of truce. Jack thought for a moment about the poor souls chained within her bowels, and wished he could do something.   
  
One of the Navy sailors threw down a rope to the longboat as they came alongside the frigate, and within a few minutes Jack was on board surrounded by a clutch of Frenchmen armed with swords and English marines with bayonets. His guards let go of him.   
  
A tall man in the uniform of an English commodore walked forward, the marines making way for him to come through. He looked Jack up and down with an expression of extreme disapproval on his face.   
  
"Well?" he said.   
  
"_Voilà notre prisonnier_," said Captain Chabert, who came up behind the Commodore. Jack scowled at him. "_C'est un pirate_," Chabert continued, emotionless.   
  
"A pirate, indeed?" said the commodore. "Have you a name?"   
  
"James Swift," said Jack.   
  
"Swift. Indeed. What am I supposed to do with him, captain?" The commodore raised an eyebrow at Chabert.   
  
"_Je ne sais pas, commodore_," Chabert said. "_C'est à vous de décider_."   
  
"For me to decide?" The commodore glanced at Bonnasse, who was translating. "In turn, what am I supposed to do with you?"   
  
Bonnasse and Chabert spoke quickly and softly together, and Bonnasse turned back to the commodore.   
  
"You allow us to continue on our way, monsieur," he said. "We ask nothing more."   
  
The commodore's brow creased as he regarded the two Frenchmen.   
  
"'Scuse me," Jack said. "Commodore?"   
  
"_Tais-toi, imbécile_!" Bonnasse hissed.   
  
"Commodore?" repeated Jack.   
  
"You heard the man," the commodore said. "Be quiet, or I shall order you gagged."   
  
Jack grinned, and fell silent.   
  
The Frenchmen and the commodore exchanged a few more words, and bowed gravely to one another. Then Chabert and his men descended the ladder and soon the even splash of oars could be heard as the French rowed back to their ship.   
  
"Commodore, you must listen to me!" said Jack, allowing a touch of captain's authority to enter his voice. "There are seven English sailors aboard that vessel, locked up - not to mention the hold full o' slaves. You cannot let them sail away!"   
  
The commodore turned a pair of piercing sea-grey eyes on Jack. "Indeed?"   
  
"Yes!" Jack nodded. "Aye."   
  
"English pirates?"   
  
"No. Sailors from a merchant vessel, the _Nancy_, wrecked off Africa," Jack explained. "Got picked up by the Frenchies. They're slavers, commodore."   
  
"It is a perfectly respectable trade," the commodore said tautly. "Unlike yours."   
  
"I've not been a pirate for years," Jack said, stretching the truth slightly.   
  
"Indeed?"   
  
"Got caught," Jack explained, shaking his shackled wrists so his sleeve exposed his brand. "See? I was a really awful pirate, commodore." He put truth and honesty into his gzae. "Bloody dreadful," he expanded. "Was tryin' to go straight, aboard the _Nancy_.   
  
The commodore turned away. "Take him below," he said.   
  
"You're condemning innocent men," Jack said, twisting as two marines took his shoulders. "Good men."  
  
"And gag him," the commodore added.   
  
The marines pulled Jack down to the frigate's brig, which turned out to be much more luxurious than the French one. There was even a blanket. The marines unlocked Jack's manacled wrists with a key that the French must have given them, and took away the handkerchief they had stuffed into Jack's mouth.   
  
"Thanks," Jack said.   
  
The marines stepped out of the brig and locked it. "Best make the most of it," one of them said. "Old Commodore Townsend don't like pirates. You'll hang, like as not, soon as we're back in port."   
  
"Which port?" asked Jack.   
  
"Royal," said the marine. "A day's sail." They turned, and left Jack alone with his blanket and his thoughts.   
  
They docked in Port Royal the next evening. The town had grown since Jack's last visit. The fort had been extended, with many more cannon, and was looking - to Jack's eyes - rather too formidable. He was walked through the streets manacled, attracting the gaze of the locals, and taken down to the fort's cells. The marines dumped his belongings just outside the bars and left him.   
  
Jack could not sleep that night. He told himself that there would be a way out of this situation, that he would not hang; but he felt very alone.   
  
In the morning, another pair of marines came to fetch him, and took him to the commodore's office. The commodore, hat laid aside, was seated behind a desk, piles of papers covering the surface. He looked up.   
  
"Mr Swift."   
  
"Commodore."   
  
"I have called you here to tell you what I plan to do with you," the commodore said. "Piracy, as you know, is punishable by death."   
  
"Aye, sir," Jack said. He did know. He had seen the skeletons swinging as an example, and had heard the tales.   
  
"But you say it has been a while since you were actively flaunting the law?"   
  
"Ages. Years!" said Jack. "I did me bit out East, got caught, decided it were too much of a risk. Went straight after that, honest, Commodore."   
  
"That is what I propose to find out," said Commodore Townsend. "If I can find no record of you working in the Caribbean I shall be obliged to let you go. The East Indies are not my jurisdiction. Therefore you will remain in our custody until I have made enquiries. If you are lying, you will hang. If not, you may go free."   
  
"Sounds like a fair deal," Jack said, privately rejoicing. He had spent only a short time aboard a pirate ship under the name James Swift; the Navy would have nothing to find.   
  
The commodore made a dismissive motion with his hand. "You are dismissed."   
  
Jack spent a week in Fort Charles's gaol, fed reasonably well and watched over by a rotating guard of marines. He took the time to consider his options, certain that the commodore would find nothing on him - or, to be more precise, nothing on Swift. By the end of the week he had decided to head for Tortuga, on the off chance that some of the sailors from the _Nancy_ would have escaped.   
  
He was called back to the commodore's office in the early morning, seven days later. The commodore was looking tired and somewhat dissatisfied as he signed a piece of parchment with a squiggly line of ink.   
  
"You're free, Swift," he said without preamble. "We've talked to all the pirates currently held captive anywhere near here. None of them know you. We have no record of you."   
  
Jack grinned.   
  
"Besides," Commodore Townsend went on, "I've had reports that seven Englishmen were sold as slaves three days ago in Port-au-Prince. From a French ship. Your _Poulette_."   
  
"Not my _Poulette_," Jack said.   
  
"Well." The commodore shrugged. "The fact remains you were telling me the truth, and I apologise for not hearing you. Untie his hands." He spoke to a marine, who hurried across and untied the rope binding Jack's wrists.   
  
Jack bowed. "Thank you, sir. Can I have me effects before I leave?"   
  
"Your coat and sword?"   
  
"Aye, sir."   
  
"Fetch them!"   
  
A marine hurried off, and returned shortly with Jack's coat, hat and sword belt. He put them on, settling the belt around his shoulders and straightening the hat on his head.   
  
"You can go," the commodore said. "But let me make this very clear, Swift - if you are caught in the act of piracy in the Caribbean, you will hang. Am I understood?"   
  
"Absolutely," Jack nodded. "Totally clear. Thank you, commodore." He bowed again, and walked out. The marines parted to let him past, and Jack walked out of the fort a free man.   
  
He turned as he went, and grinned at it. "Remember this, commodore," he said, quietly, "as the day you let Captain Jack Sparrow walk free."   
  
And he set off down the street, past a young boy carrying a bundle of swords to the fort. It was a beautiful day, it was the Caribbean; and Jack felt like he was on the top of the world. 


	14. Chapter 14

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** yes, that was Will making a cameo appearance in the last chapter. Thanks for continued reviews._  
  
----  
  
Tortuga. Jack breathed in the stench of alcohol and infamy and grinned. Home once more. It had taken him several months of island hopping aboard a variety of boats and ships to get to the Island of the Turtle; partly to save money and partly to throw the Royal Navy off the scent. He was using a different name for the moment, travelling as Christopher Black, but he planned on picking up old threads and starting to reintroduce Captain Jack Sparrow to the Caribbean.   
  
First, there was something he wanted to do. And so he sauntered along, looking for the right sort of shop. After a bit, he spotted the sign he was looking for, and pushed open the shop door.   
  
"Good afternoon, sir!" the shopkeeper greeted him, emerging from a back room. He started. "Goodness me!"   
  
"Eh?" Jack looked up from fingering through the coins in his pocket.   
  
"Backbone," said the shopkeeper, grinning. "Backbone. I believe I sold you a coat once, sir, not long after I set up in this wonderful town. You told me I needed backbone."   
  
Jack peered at the man, and looked around the shop. "Did I?"   
  
"Never forget a face," the shopkeeper said. "What can I do for you?"   
  
"Sign in the window," Jack said. "Says you do tattoos."   
  
The shopkeeper nodded. "I do. A passing sailor taught me the art and it proves very profitable."   
  
"Then I'd like one," said Jack. He felt in his pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper he had prepared earlier. "This. On me arm."   
  
Taking the paper, the shopkeeper examined it. "Very nice, sir. I think I can manage this."   
  
"Good." Jack took off his coat and rolled up his sleeve. "Put it there."   
  
"Above this scar, sir?" The shopkeeper examined Jack's arm. "Very good." He disappeared for a few moments, and came back into the shop with a variety of murderous-looking equipment and a bottle of ink. Pulling out a chair, he gestured for Jack to sit, producing a bottle of rum and handing it to his customer. "Some gentlemen prefer to be a little ... lubricated, shall we say?"   
  
"Does it hurt?" Jack uncorked the bottle and took a swig.   
  
"Maybe a little." Glancing at the design, the shopkeeper opened his bottle of ink, prepared a needle, and began.   
  
Jack found the sensation somewhat bizarre - prickling as the needle jabbed colour into his skin - but it was fascinating to watch as the image took shape on his arm. He swallowed a few more gulps of rum, more because it was there than anything else.   
  
The process took maybe an hour, with little talk. The shopkeeper concentrated on his task, breaking off only to replenish the ink, and once when another customer entered the shop to buy a shirt. Finally, he laid down the needle.   
  
"There."   
  
Jack twisted his arm around to see the picture the right way up. He smiled.   
  
"Wonderful, mate."   
  
"What sort of bird is it, sir?" the shopkeeper asked, beginning to put away his things.   
  
"It's a sparrow," said Jack, looking for his money. He took out some coins and put them on the counter.   
  
"A sparrow?"   
  
Jack examined the tattoo. It was the same image he had carved so carefully into the wood of the Portsmouth church, years before; a sparrow flying for the sun. "A sparrow," he confirmed, putting on his coat. "Thanks. Nice job. You clearly have developed backbone."   
  
"Oh, I have indeed," the shopkeeper said. "Wouldn't dream of leaving Tortuga now. Pleasure dealing with you, sir."   
  
"Likewise," said Jack, giving the man a little bow and leaving the shop.   
  
Newly tattooed, he felt the need for sustenance, and headed for one of his preferred taverns. Everything was reassuringly familiar, busy and noisy. Tortuga was evidently thriving, despite the Royal Navy's zeal for capturing pirates.   
  
He slid into a seat in the tavern and ordered food and grog, before leaning back and surveying the scene. A group of whores in low-cut dresses circulated amongst the men, flirtatiously displaying their goods. A card game was in full swing in another corner, spectators watching and supporting the players vociferously. Jack sighed with pleasure - this was a world he knew.   
  
"Nice place, i'n't it?"   
  
Turning, Jack saw that the man next to him was watching the tavern activity with the same sort of pleasure.   
  
"Aye," he agreed. The serving wench came back with a brimming bowl of something hot and fragrant and a tankard of grog, bending over to put them on the table. Jack watched her with appreciation, and gave her a winning, gold-edged smile as she straightened. The girl deliberately adjusted the neckline of her dress and smiled back before disappearing again. "Excellent view," Jack said.   
  
"Ah, the lasses are a sight to behold," his neighbour said. "An' the rum's good." He raised his tankard and swallowed a mouthful. "And it's every man for himself."   
  
Jack spooned up some of the fish stew in the plate in front of him and contemplated the other man as he chewed. He seemed to be dressed in an old, stained Navy uniform, a grubby neckerchief serving as a sort of cravat. But what would a Navy sailor be doing in a Tortuga tavern, quoting pirate proverbs?   
  
"There's nowhere like Tortuga," he said, finishing his mouthful.   
  
"I'll drink to that," said his neighbour, doing so. "Joshamee Gibbs," he added, in a friendly fashion. "Formerly, but no longer an' never again, o' His Majesty's Navy. May God drown 'em all."   
  
"That explains the clothes," said Jack.   
  
"Aye, it does," Joshamee Gibbs nodded. He leaned over to Jack and lowered his voice. "I deserted, see. Came to th' conclusion that you piratical types have a better sort o' life than poor bastards aboard a warship."   
  
"Not a hard conclusion to arrive at," Jack said. "Having just escaped the clutches of the Navy's finest meself, I'd not want to join them voluntarily-like."   
  
Gibbs raised a pair of bushy grey eyebrows. "Escaped?"   
  
"Escaped," Jack confirmed.   
  
"Not many as manage that."   
  
"Ah, but I'm ..." Jack raised a finger to emphasise his point, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Don't make a habit of staying in captivity very long."   
  
"A captain? I'm lookin' for a ship," said Gibbs.   
  
Jack realised the significance of his identity was completely lost on the older man. He gulped down some grog, resolving to set the record straight then and there.   
  
"So'm I," he said.   
  
"You can't be a cap'n without a ship," Gibbs pointed out with the unassailable logic of a drunk man.   
  
"I had a ship," Jack began, sketching the lines of the _Black Pearl_ in the air. "The _Black Pearl_."   
  
"I've heard of her," Gibbs said. "She's lootin' and killin' all over these parts."   
  
Jack thought of Barbossa mishandling his precious ship, and hated the thought. "Not when I was captain," he said. "Not that we didn't loot, and rifle and pillage. We did. But not like now. The _Pearl_'s the fastest ship in the Caribbean, savvy? Can outrun anything minded to give chase, there's no call to kill." He had a drink. "Anyway, I heard of a treasure, hidden away. Aztec gold."   
  
"Gold?" Gibbs's eyes glinted.   
  
"Aye, gold. So I came to Tortuga with me ship and looked for a crew. Found one, too. And we sailed off in search of the island where it was hidden, which can only be found if you know where it is."   
  
Gibbs scratched his head. Jack pulled out his compass and flipped it open.   
  
"Doesn't point north," the old sailor said.   
  
"We weren't looking for north, were we?" Jack explained. "Anyway, I was the only one with the location of said island in me head." He tapped it. "Problem was, my mate Barbossa wasn't happy with that."   
  
"So?" Gibbs was hanging on every word.   
  
"He incited the crew to mutiny," said Jack. "Said that I'd promised them an equal share and that should mean the bearings too. Coerced the men into taking the ship and leaving me on a godforsaken island. Of course I didn't let them take it just like that, I fought for the old lady. But twenty 'gainst one isn't good odds. They gave me a pistol with one shot -" he produced the pistol as evidence, waving it in Gibbs's face before putting it away again - "and marooned me."   
  
"Pistol to shoot yourself?" Gibbs confirmed.   
  
"To shoot myself." Jack put two fingers to his right temple and mimed a gun going off. "So I sat on the island a couple of days. Weren't going to use the pistol. That shot is for Barbossa." He paused, thinking of Barbossa.   
  
Gibbs nodded. "Go on. How'd you escape?"   
  
"What?" Jack was jerked back to the present. "Oh. I ..." he waved a hand airily, and then inspiration struck. "Stood in the shallows and waited till the fishes got used to me. Fish and other creatures. Then I used a couple of sea turtles as a raft and escaped."   
  
"Sea turtles?" Gibbs's gaze was wide. "As a raft?"   
  
"They have quite a turn of speed," Jack said lightly. "Ever since then, I've been looking for me ship. Mark me words, Mr Gibbs, at some point I _am_ going to get my _Pearl_ back, and Barbossa will rue the day he ever met me."   
  
"I'll drink to that," the other man said. "Revenge."   
  
"Revenge," Jack agreed, tapping the edge of his tankard against Gibbs's. "For me ship, and for a friend."   
  
"A friend?"   
  
"Old Bootstrap," Jack said, half to himself. "Didn't deserve what he got, not by a long way."   
  
"Not Bootstrap Bill Turner?" Gibbs asked, putting his tankard down with a clunk.   
  
Jack narrowed his eyes. "The one and the same. You knew him?"   
  
"I know him," Gibbs said. "Sailed with him on a merchant ship once, afore I joined the Navy."   
  
"He's dead," Jack told him. "Killed by Barbossa."   
  
"Damn," said Gibbs. He looked at the surface of the table, and seemed genuinely upset. "He was a good man."   
  
"Good man, good pirate, good friend," Jack said.   
  
Gibbs looked up. "What're you thinking of doing now, cap'n?"   
  
Picking up his spoon again, Jack returned to his stew. "Commandeering a vessel and going in search of the _Pearl_."   
  
"I'd like to request permission t' join you, sir," Gibbs said.   
  
Jack grinned. "Granted." He held out a hand, and the old sailor took it and they shook. "We have an accord, Mr Gibbs."   
  
"Thank you, Captain Sparrow."   
  
"Tomorrow," said Jack, "we shall go in search of a ship and a crew. Until then, let's get drunk." 


	15. Chapter 15

_**Disclaimer:**see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:**many thanks to the Black_Pearl_Sails gang, and particularly Teresa, who helped me with the beginning of this chapter. Ta, mates!_  
  


* * *

  
"Another card."   
  
"None for me."   
  
"Eight," said Jack, laying down the four of hearts and the four of spades.   
  
"Dammit, Jack!" Gibbs turned over a three and a two; the third man at the table a king, a two and a five.   
  
Jack grinned and pulled the pile of coins on the table towards him. "'Nother round?" he suggested.   
  
Grizzled old Captain André spread his hands. "I have nothing left to bet with, Captain Sparrow - I swear, you have taken all my money!"   
  
Fingers flying, Jack dealt each of them two cards anyway. "You've still got something I'd like, cap'n."   
  
André shook his head. "_Non_."   
  
"Think I'll win again?" Jack asked, grinning at the other man. He and the former Navy man Gibbs had bumped into Captain André two nights earlier - the French pirate had docked his neat little two-master in Tortuga harbour and was ashore for some rest. The three men had discovered a shared love of cards. Tonight, they were playing baccarat, and Jack was winning decisively.   
  
"You said you wanted a rest," Jack pursued. "I'd take good care of her - if I win."   
  
André leant across the table. "Have you seen your _Pearl_lately, Sparrow?"   
  
Jack fluttered fingers. "No."   
  
"Her sails are tattered," said André, his voice low. "Her decks black with filth. She gives no quarter, does not obey the Code. She is not this beauty you describe her as, Sparrow. She's a disgrace."   
  
He could have said nothing that would hurt Jack more, and Jack knew that the Frenchman knew it. But he looked André in the eye, and grinned a glittering grin. "All the more reason for me to get her back and restore her to her former glory, ain't it?" He lowered his voice, injecting it with all the charm he could. "You've one thing left to bet with, captain. Bet your ship. If I win, I'll take her, and your crew. You'll get thirty per cent of me plunder. If you win, you get all the cash I've taken so far. And some rum. And I'll join your crew and work for free."   
  
"For free," Gibbs put in.   
  
André looked sideways at Jack. "Fifty per cent."   
  
"Forty," Jack said. "Can't say fairer'n that."   
  
"What if he wins?" André jabbed a thumb at Gibbs.   
  
Gibbs pushed his chair back. "I won't play."   
  
Jack fixed the Frenchman with dark eyes. "_Allez, capitaine_."   
  
"Did not know you spoke French," André said.   
  
"There's a deal you don't know," Jack returned. "C'mon. It's a fair bet. Can't say I've cheated you. Forty per cent. You can sit here drinkin' rum while I earn you lots of swag. I'll get you more than you ever managed before. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy; I'm a good pirate."   
  
Slowly, André reached out a hand. "_D'accord_." They shook. "I bet my ship, against all your winnings and your service aboard the _Nictaux_, should you lose."   
  
"Agreed!" said Jack, joyfully. He gathered up the cards, as Gibbs was not playing in this round.   
  
"And I shall deal," said the Frenchman. Jack nodded, and handed him the pack.   
  
André shuffled the cards, and, keeping his gaze fixed on Jack, dealt. Jack glanced at his cards, and his mouth twitched in a smile.   
  
"Card," he said. The French captain gave him one, and then dealt himself another.   
  
"I rest," André said.   
  
"Me too," Jack said. "Show?"   
  
"Show."   
  
The two pirate captains turned over their cards as one. Jack grinned.   
  
"_Merde_," said André. On the table before him were three cards: an ace, a five, and a two. Eight. But on Jack's side of the table were a king, a nine, and a jack. A natural nine.   
  
"Round of drinks for everyone!" said Jack, collecting the cards together and waving his arms around in joy. "Rum on me!" He turned to André. "I will take good care of your vessel," he said, serious all of a sudden. "I swear to you, no 'arm will come to her. I'll call in with the plunder when we're passing by."   
  
Captain André let his head fall heavily on to the table. Jack got up, leaving the cards behind, and beckoned to Gibbs; together they left the tavern.   
  
Walking to the harbour, Gibbs turned to Jack. "You cheated," he said. "I saw the cards slip out o' your sleeves."   
  
"Wonderful things, sleeves," said Jack, lightly.   
  
"But you cheated," Gibbs repeated.   
  
"Pirate?" Jack shrugged. "Besides, I'll get him more plunder than he's been doin' - I wasn't lying about that. You wait, Mr Gibbs. You're about to learn what being a pirate really is."   
  
Five days later, Jack stood on the quarterdeck of Captain Andr's two-master, the _Nictaux_. "Right, gentlemen," he said. "You, I'm told, are the pick of what's to be found in Tortuga these days."   
  
The crew - twenty men, recruited from the taverns and waterside of Tortuga - shifted their feet and looked back at their strange new captain. To celebrate the occasion, Jack had added a heavy silver ornament to his hair as well as applying a thick layer of kohl around his eyes. He had polished his belt buckle and brushed down his coat, and there was a spring in his step born from being aboard a ship once more.   
  
"We'll be setting a course for the mainland," said Jack, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword and the other gesturing towards open sea. "Then we'll beat southwards 'long the coast, t'wards New Granada and Curaçao, before coming back up the Antilles. With lots of plunder. Our hold's empty save for supplies, so we'll have plenty of room for the loot." He turned on his heel, and began pacing the quarterdeck. "Now, gents, aboard my ship there'll be no killin' in cold blood. Should someone draw on you, feel free to shoot 'em or stab 'em back - but only if they draw on you. If you want a lass, ask her first. Anythin' else goes."   
  
The men exchanged glances and nodded. Jack gave them a shining grin.   
  
"Now. Mr Deschamps over there will be me first mate, and Mr Gibbs," he gestured at Gibbs, "second mate. Rest of ye know your tasks. Look lively; let's get those sails unfurled and this lady moving."   
  
Jack turned to the helm and, after a pause, the crew did look lively. Soon the _Nictaux_was gliding smoothly out of Tortuga harbour, the wind tugging at her sails. Jack called for the mainsail to be trimmed and caressed the wood of the helm, full of joy to be out again on the open ocean where he belonged.   
  
They beat down the Windward Passage, Cuba on the _Nictaux_'s starboard bow and Hispaniola on her port, before turning westwards and leaving Jamaica to port. The _Nictaux_was lively in the water, and Jack thought she seemed to be enjoying the voyage. Her crew settled down, too, as they got used to their eccentric captain, and fell into the usual rhythm of life aboard ship - repairs, cleaning, sunbathing and card playing.   
  
Two days after they had passed the western tip of Jamaica the lookout sighted a ship on the horizon, and Jack whipped out his telescope to have a look.   
  
"Aha!" he said, gleeful, passing the telescope to Gibbs. "Dutch merchant. Ripe for the picking."   
  
Gibbs returned the telescope. "Aye, cap'n," he said, doubtful.   
  
"Your first act o' piracy," Jack said, clapping the old sailor on the shoulder. "Don't worry, mate, it'll be fine. You're in good hands."   
  
He glanced up at the set of the sails, ordered the adjustments he wanted, and swung the helm so that the _Nictaux_was heading straight for the merchant vessel.   
  
"Prepare the guns!" he ordered, once the water was creaming under the ship's bow. "Arm yourselves, and get back on deck."   
  
The pirates hurried to obey, and were ready long before they were within range of the Dutch ship. Jack had another look at her through the telescope.   
  
"Three-masted bark," he said, with a touch of envy. "Ten guns. Could carry more canvas than she is. Riding low in the water - heavily laden. Wonderful."   
  
Turning back to his crew, he began to give orders.   
  
Gibbs was fiddling with the hilt of his cutlass. "Cap'n, mebbe I should stay with the ship?"   
  
"Getting cold feet?" Jack tightened the knot of his headscarf and resettled his hat on his head. "Deschamps'll stay with the ship, Mr Gibbs, you're comin' with us."   
  
Gibbs nodded. "If you say so, sir."   
  
"It's natural to feel a bit nervous, the first time," Jack said. "Lord knows I was."   
  
The other man managed a tight grin.   
  
They ran up the _Nictaux_'s colours - a be-hatted skull with a single cutlass below - as they approached the Dutch vessel, and frantic activity could be seen on her deck. Jack watched carefully, his eyes noting the way the wind was filling the sails, and at the right moment he called, "Heave to! Fire!" Even as the ship swung around to lie abreast of the Dutch merchant, her port cannon fired. A shot landed a few yards ahead of the merchant's bow.   
  
Jack drew his sword. "Grapples!" he ordered. "Throw 'em and board, gentlemen!"   
  
The next few minutes were filled with the rush of the fight, as the _Nictaux_'s crew launched themselves on board the Dutch ship and engaged her sailors. Jack targeted the captain, who proved to be a very poor swordsman. After a short, disappointing fight, the captain had surrendered both his sword, the valuables he had on his person, and the key to the ship's hold. Throwing the latter to one of the pirates, Jack made sure that the merchant's cargo was brought up on deck and moved across to his ship.   
  
The rest of the Dutch sailors were held easily at bay with pistols to their heads and the pirates giving them cheerfully evil leers, whilst boxes and crates and barrels were lifted to the _Nictaux_. When all was done, Jack bowed elaborately to the merchant captain and swung back to his own vessel, and the pirates sailed off leaving the Dutch tied up on deck.   
  
On board the _Nictaux_a celebration was in full swing as the swag was counted and catalogued. They had been extremely lucky; the cargo turned out to be mostly costly Dutch silverware, worth a tidy sum. The crew toasted Jack with an extra ration or three of rum as they stowed the silver away below decks, and Jack sat on a barrel and watched, back in his element.   
  
Gibbs came up to him, fingering the pocketful of cash he had taken from some of the Dutch sailors. "You were right," he said.   
  
"I'm always right," Jack returned. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?" He paused. "About what?"   
  
"About me takin' part in that raid," Gibbs elaborated. "Would've been daft to 'ave held back. I reckon I made the right decision. Piracy - it's a good life."   
  
"It's the best life," said Jack, lifting his cup of rum. "The best."   
  
Gibbs touched his cup to his captain's, and the two of them drank in companionable, satisfied silence. It had been a good day's work. 


	16. Chapter 16

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
The pirates stared down at the box.   
  
"That's not valuables," Gibbs said, glumly.   
  
Jack bent, and pulled out one of the dark blue jackets that were folded neatly in the looted box. "It's not silver or gold," he said, "but it's valuable nonetheless." He held the jacket up against himself. "Oh yes, this is valuable."   
  
"It's a navy uniform, cap'n," one of the crew pointed out.   
  
"Aye, it is!" Jack grinned, cheerfully. "And as such, will bring us more wealth than if it had been a box o' coins."   
  
Gibbs eyed his captain doubtfully. "Will it?"   
  
"You wait, Mr Gibbs!" Jack said.   
  
"Daft," muttered Gibbs, under his breath.   
  
"Close the trunk and take it down to me cabin," Jack ordered. Two of the pirates hurried to obey.   
  
The _Nictaux_ was sailing northeast from Aruba, having put in at the settlement for a couple of days' shore leave. The crew were in a good mood - the voyage thus far had been profitable and exciting, with many ships raided and no loss of life. It was mostly because of this that Jack's strange excitement over their latest capture of a box full of Spanish naval uniforms went without comment. The pirates had generally agreed that though their captain was certainly mad, he knew how to sail, and so they had grown to accept him.   
  
Jack followed the box down to his cabin and sent the crew away once they had put it down on the floor. He took off his hat and dropped to his knees to investigate.   
  
There were ten pristine new officers' uniforms in the trunk, complete sets including breeches and hats. There was also a neatly-folded Spanish flag. Jack tried one of the hats on, squinting at himself in the back of a silver plate won from an English merchant three weeks before. It fitted well enough, and he grinned at his reflection. He had an idea.   
  
Later that day, Jack set two of the pirates to repainting the _Nictaux_'s stern. They hung on with their legs straddled over a board suspended from the rail, painting over the ship's name. Jack watched, peering down at them from the quarterdeck, with Gibbs at the helm giving him puzzled glances.   
  
When the painters were finished, they were hauled back on deck and given an extra ration of rum. Leaning over the side, Jack inspected their handiwork and pronounced himself satisfied.   
  
"What happens now?" the first mate, Deschamps, asked.   
  
"We wait," Jack said, "for the opportune moment."   
  
The moment he was looking for did not arise that day, nor indeed the next. They continued on their northeastern course, heading for the smaller islands on the edge of the Caribbean. The lookouts spied a couple of ships on the horizon, but after Jack had hurried aloft to have a look for himself, he came back down and gave the order to keep to their course.   
  
He had a plan, and he was going to stick to it. He was rather enjoying the looks he kept getting from Gibbs. The old sailor had, by his tales, seen a lot of the world, but this was his first experience of piracy and it was clear he was not quite sure what to make of it.   
  
On the third day, the lookout's call of "Ship ahoy!" was tinged with fear. Jack slipped off his boots and climbed the rigging to see what was what.   
  
"English naval vessel, cap'n," the lookout said, passing Jack the telescope. Jack squinted down it.   
  
"Excellent," he said.   
  
"Cap'n?"   
  
"Stay here an' tell me how she's doing," Jack said, reassuringly. He hurried back down to the deck, and briskly picked nine men from the crew. "You dogs, come with me. Rest o' ye, stay here until I'm back."  
  
Down in his cabin, the nine pirates stared at him. "Eh?" one of them said, eventually.   
  
"Just put the clothes on, Sim," Jack returned, pushing a navy blue jacket at his crewman. "You just need to look official, like."   
  
"I am not sure I want to know what you 'ave planned, _capitaine_," Deschamps said, examining his armful of clothes.   
  
"Then don't ask, just obey, savvy?" Jack flicked his hand at the men. "Go on, change! We haven't got long afore we catch them up."   
  
They left, muttering to each other, and Jack took his coat off and turned his attention to what was left in the trunk.   
  
Fifteen minutes later, the whole crew were back on deck. Half of the men were trying not to laugh openly, whilst Jack's chosen nine were shifting self-consciously. Jack fastened his sword around his waist and straightened his new hat.   
  
"Now, gents," he said, "listen up. We're doin' a little play-acting. Just for today, the _Nictaux_ is becoming the good ship _Cordoba_, and we're all in the service of Spain. Try not to say anythin' unless you happen to speak Dago, all right?"   
  
"What are we going to do, captain?" Gibbs asked.   
  
"We," said Jack, "are going to have a little fun." He grinned.   
  
The two ships - English brig and pseudo-Spanish two-master - hove to alongside each other, at a safe distance.   
  
"Keep a sharp eye out," Jack said quietly to Gibbs, at the helm. Gibbs nodded.   
  
"Aye, sir."   
  
On the quarterdeck of the English ship, her officers were having a huddled discussion, and shortly one of their boats was lowered into the water and two of the officers climbed into it. Four crewmen unshipped the oars and, with a white handkerchief in clear evidence, the boat started its progress towards the _Nictaux_.   
  
Jack pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket and bound it around his braided beard, effectively hiding the beads. He pulled himself up to his full height, and folded his arms, waiting.   
  
Within a few moments, the English boat was at the side of the _Nictaux_.   
  
"Ahoy there, _Cordoba_!" the younger of the two officers called. "Permission to come aboard?"   
  
Shooting a grin at Gibbs, Jack called back: "_S_!" He gestured, and a ladder was thrown down to the smaller boat. The Englishmen climbed aboard, and stood looking around them. The pirates in Spanish uniform were standing around for authenticity's sake, pretending to be busy.   
  
Jack hurried down the steps to the main deck, and threw them an extravagant bow.   
  
"Welcome aboard His Majesty's ship _Cordoba_!" he said, lisping his words in a manner that at least reflected Spain. "How can I help you, _señores_?"   
  
"This is Captain Jenkins," the younger officer said. "I am Lieutenant Baldry, from His Majesty's ship the _Tenacious_."   
  
"Captain Cortés," Jack returned, not missing a beat.   
  
"Captain, we are on the hunt for a pirate ship," Jenkins said smoothly. "There have been reports from this area for the past week."   
  
"I, too, have heard reports," said Jack, shrugging. "But we have seen nothing - _nada_."   
  
"He's said to be an odd sort, the pirate captain," Jenkins continued, looking up at the _Nictaux_'s rigging. He glanced down again, at Jack. "Funny clothes, way of talking."   
  
"This also we have heard," Jack agreed. "He is said to be a fearsome _hombre_, and his sailors too. We shall give him no quarter, if we catch him."   
  
"He's raided English vessels," Jenkins said. "Governor Swann and Commodore Townsend will wish to try him in Port Royal, and hang him there."   
  
Jack shrugged. "He has also taken Spanish ships. Are we to be denied a trial?"   
  
Captain Jenkins smiled, narrowly. "If we catch him first, aye."   
  
"Yet if we catch him?" asked Jack. "This man, this pirate with the odd name ..."   
  
"Sparrow," said Baldry. "Or so we're told."   
  
"Sparrow, _s_," said Jack. "If we catch him, we shall try him."   
  
Jenkins nodded. "That is fair. Very well. _Gracías_, Captain Cortés." He held out his hand, and Jack shook it.   
  
"Thank you, Captain Jenkins," he replied.   
  
"Good hunting, then," Jenkins said. "Nice ship, by the way."   
  
"Yours, also," Jack said.   
  
They exchanged bows, and the Englishmen returned to their boat and then their ship. In a short while they were heading south, whilst the _Nictaux_ set off again on her previous course. Jack was jubilant.   
  
"We had 'em!" he said.   
  
"Could have been risky, that," said Gibbs, shaking his head. "Could have been very risky."   
  
"Ah, but it worked, didn't it?" Jack pointed out, freeing his beard from its constraint. "We've sent them off south on a wild Sparrow chase." His eyes lifted to the sails. "Except they're going to find him."   
  
"Cap'n?" exclaimed Gibbs, horror in his eyes; but Jack had already given his orders and the ship was going about, to begin racing south after the Navy vessel. Gibbs shook his head. "Daft," he said, to himself. "Daft."   
  
As night fell, the _Nictaux_ was gaining fast on the _Tenacious_. Lights shone from the portholes of the English vessel, and she was cruising under very little sail. Jack, back on deck in his usual attire, was standing on the rail watching their progress, hand gripping a shroud lightly. He leaned backwards to talk to Deschamps, who was hovering beside him waiting for orders.   
  
"Get the cannon ready, and stand on me order to fire."   
  
"Aye, captain." Deschamps nodded, and hurried off to carry out the command. Jack searched for another pirate.   
  
"Sim!" Sim, who earlier on had been reluctant to put on the Spanish uniform, crossed the deck to Jack. "Prepare the grapples, lad," Jack said.   
  
Sim returned his captain's grin, turning to find the grappling irons.   
  
Now they were ready, and Jack watched the distance between the two ships narrow. His crew were silent, and the _Nictaux_ slipped quietly through the slack evening water.   
  
Jack, his eyes glittering in the gloom, tensed, ready. He could hear the creaks of the _Tenacious_ now, lines slapping the mast. He gestured to Gibbs at the helm, and the _Nictaux_ swung around.   
  
"Grapples, now!" Jack called, his voice swinging his crew into action. It startled the _Tenacious_, too.   
  
"Declare yourselves!" A voice rang across the gap between the two vessels. Grapples hissed through the air in reply, catching on the _Tenacious_'s rail, and Jack seized a line from the nearest pirate, launching himself into the darkness. He landed securely with the ease of long practice on the deck of the English ship, standing and drawing his sword in one swift motion. Around him he could hear the chaos beginning as his crew followed him.   
  
A sword whistled down behind his head, and Jack swung and blocked the blow. He threw the young midshipman who had attacked him one of his best piratical leers, and the boy's sword hand visibly shook.   
  
"Take me to your captain, lad," Jack said.   
  
The midshipman, quivering, nodded and led Jack hurriedly across the deck. They sidestepped sailors trying their best against seasoned pirates, and arrived on the quarterdeck. Captain Jenkins was being defended by two of his lieutenants, who looked like they had been roused from their beds in a hurry.   
  
"Captain!" Jack swept the group of half-dressed naval officers one of his best bows. "I've some good news for you."   
  
"Stand down, pirate!" Lieutenant Baldry waved his sword.   
  
"Don't you want to hear the news, then?" Jack asked. "Pity. I'd have thought you'd have wanted to hear it afore I give the order to have this ship blown into smithereens."   
  
"You've no chance," the other lieutenant said, scornfully. "We've far more fire power than you."   
  
"Ah," said Jack, "but my cannon are ready to fire. Yours aren't. I suggest you listen to the news, mate."   
  
Jenkins laid a hand on Baldry's shoulder, and moved him gently aside. "And what would that news be, pirate?"   
  
Jack grinned, and twirled the end of his moustache with his free hand. "_Una buena noticia_, Captain Jenkins. You do not need to look further for Captain Sparrow." He dropped the Spanish accent. "I'm right here, savvy?"   
  
Captain Jenkins stared. "You!"   
  
"Me." Jack turned his head slightly. "Men - back t' the ship!"   
  
The pirates cheered, and began to make their way back across to the _Nictaux_. Jack turned back to Jenkins.   
  
"Know this," he said. "Today you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow - but you didn't. Moment to treasure, eh?" He flicked out his sword and caught Jenkins's hat on the end of it, before seizing a handy loose line and jumping. "Fire!" he called, even as he swung.   
  
The _Nictaux_'s cannon shuddered, and a cannonball thumped into the _Tenacious_'s side, just above the waterline.   
  
All the pirates were safely back on board now, some nursing minor wounds, and Jack gave the order to turn. Sails were unfurled, catching the wind as the ship came around. The naval vessel managed to get off one shot before the two-master was out of range, but it fell short with a splash into the water.   
  
Jack sheathed his sword, and threw Gibbs Captain Jenkins's hat. "Present. Let me have the helm."   
  
Gibbs caught the hat. "Right y'are, cap'n." They exchanged places. Gibbs tried the hat on, but took it off again straight away. He eyed Jack. "That could've turned nasty," he said.   
  
"But it didn't," said Jack, adjusting the course a point to port. "Did it?"   
  
There was nothing Gibbs could say to that, and he left Jack at the helm. The _Nictaux_ sliced through the waves, and her captain hummed a tuneless song to himself. As far as he was concerned, all was right with the world. 


	17. Chapter 17

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Time check - it's now 1680. Jack's 35._  
  
---  
  
The year turned. Jack and the crew of the _Nictaux_ had been away from Tortuga for ten months, and the hold was swollen with cargo and with chests of coins. Periodically, Jack traded goods for coin, which took up less space, and so they had been able to keep sailing longer. But there was now no more room for money or goods, and so the ship was beating back to her home port.   
  
Jack was down below doing slow and careful calculations when the shout of "Ship ho!" came from the deck. He dropped his quill, spilled the ink, and was out of his cabin in moments.   
  
The crew were gathered on the starboard side of the deck, all looking out to sea.   
  
"Move out of me way, you sea-dogs!" Jack said. "What's going on?"   
  
"T'ain't nat'ral," Gibbs said, as the crew parted to let Jack through. "There's barely a breath of wind, and yet she's movin' ..."   
  
Jack followed his crew's gaze.   
  
Out to sea there was a bank of fog, and Jack opened his mouth to comment on the strangeness of that single patch marring an otherwise glorious day. But then he saw the dark shape within the fog.   
  
"Telescope."   
  
Gibbs passed him the telescope, and Jack peered through it.   
  
The telescope cut out a round circle of mist, and the shadow within was clearer. The bow of a ship, cutting cleanly through the water, driven by black sails. Though there was little wind, the vessel was making good progress, as if she were trapped in a weather system all of her own.   
  
And Jack recognised the sails, though they were riddled with holes and shabby with use. He recognised the carven prow, the long bowsprit, the high stern. This was the _Black Pearl_, but a pearl tarnished with age and with lack of care.   
  
He slowly lowered the telescope from his eye. Kohl was smudged around the eyepiece, and he wiped the end on his coat before handing the instrument back to Gibbs.   
  
"Keep on our present course," Jack said, tautly, and disappeared. Gibbs's call of "cap'n?" echoed after him.   
  
Down in his cabin, he stood very still, his heart thumping in his chest. It had been nearly five years, five years of wandering the seas searching for that very ship. Last time he had seen her, she had been healthy and whole - a little scruffy, perhaps, with sails imperfectly furled, but still his _Pearl_. The ship on the horizon, bearing out of the fog like some nightmarish vision, was ill. He could see it, and he sensed it. There was more at work than a freak cloud, for as Gibbs had observed, no ship could sail that fast with sails so threadbare.   
  
What had Barbossa done to the _Black Pearl_, to change her so? Jack could not imagine, but as he stood and contemplated the possibilities, his eyes grew hot and damp. He sank down on to the floor, his back against the side of his bunk, and stared into space.   
  
He was roused a while later - though how much later he did not know - by a knock on the door.   
  
"Sir?" It was Gibbs again.   
  
Jack pulled himself to his feet, straightened his coat and pulled a chart out at random to examine it. "Come in!" he called.   
  
Gibbs opened the door cautiously, poking his head around it. "Captain, are you all right?"   
  
"Perfectly all right, Mr Gibbs, why should anythin' be the matter?" Jack turned a brilliant grin on his second mate. "Reckon we should make Tortuga within a few days."   
  
"Aye." Gibbs scratched his head. "That other ship's turned south. Dunno why she didn't follow us. Clear we're riding low in the water - she'd have taken us no problem."   
  
"Our colours are flying," Jack pointed out. He turned back to his chart, which, he discovered, was of the waters north of Cuba. "She wouldn't attack another pirate."   
  
Gibbs folded his arms. "She was the _Black Pearl_, wasn't she, Jack?"   
  
"She _is_ the _Black Pearl_," Jack corrected him. He gazed down at the chart. "Though not, I'll admit, lookin' her best."   
  
"You're not going after her?"   
  
"With this load?" Jack shook his head, and folded up the chart he was not really seeing. "And risk ang'ring old André? You may reckon I'm daft, Gibbs, but I'm not that daft. I know how the _Pearl_ moves, and I know how Barbossa thinks. She outguns us and she'd outsail us. Nah, we'll take the plunder back to Tortuga and let the old lady be for now."   
  
He spoke with a smile, and Gibbs shrugged. "Your choice, cap'n. I'll tell Deschamps to keep this course, shall I?"   
  
"If you would, Mr Gibbs."   
  
Gibbs nodded, and left the cabin. Jack sagged, leaning heavily on the table, wishing with all his heart that he could turn and pursue the _Black Pearl_ to wherever she was going; to use his single shot and end Barbossa's ownership of her.   
  
They sailed into Tortuga five days later, finding a berth alongside the quay where it was possible to unload their cargo. The first thing Jack did was hurry into the town to find Captain André, the _Nictaux_'s owner. He eventually tracked the Frenchman down to a small house in the busiest part of the town. The door was opened by a handsome, buxom woman in a cotton robe, who looked Jack up and down and sniffed.   
  
"Yes?"   
  
Jack swept her a bow and offered his most charming smile. "Madame. I'm looking for Captain André."   
  
"He's here. What do you want with him?"   
  
"I've brought his ship back," Jack said.   
  
The woman looked unimpressed. "Wait there," she said, shortly, and disappeared inside the house. Jack picked at his fingernails and waited.   
  
Shortly, there was the sound of footsteps hurrying down the stairs, and Captain André appeared, buttoning up his coat.   
  
"Captain Sparrow!"   
  
"Captain André." Jack put his hands together and proffered a short, polite bow. "I've come to return your ship."   
  
André looked hopeful. "And were takings good?"   
  
"Not so bad," Jack said. "You'd better come an' see."   
  
The two men walked back to the harbour, chatting idly of doings in Tortuga. The Frenchman was visibly nervous as they approached the _Nictaux_, but when he saw that his ship was in good condition, he relaxed.   
  
"Nice vessel," Jack said. "Fast. Good to handle. I can see why you weren't keen on givin' her up." He hesitated. "'Specially as we came upon the _Pearl_ the other day."   
  
André said nothing, and Jack led him back on board his ship. The crew, in the process of cleaning the vessel, roused a cheer for their former captain, who acknowledged the salute with a raised hand and a smile.   
  
Jack took André below to the hold, lighting a lantern on the way. They had not yet begun unloading, and the crates and barrels and chests were stacked high. It was an impressive haul, and the Frenchman's eyes in the flickering light were wide.   
  
"How much?" he said, eventually.   
  
"A lot," Jack said. "Your share'll be somethin' like six hundred guineas and some goods. Forty per cent, like we agreed."   
  
"And yours?"   
  
"I'm taking ten percent," Jack said. "The rest goes to the men. Fair, you reckon?"   
  
"Fair. This is ..." André waved an arm, "_incroyable_. You have done better than I ever believed, Captain Sparrow."   
  
"Call me Jack," said Jack. "I did tell you we'd do well; it was you that didn't want to believe me."   
  
"_Oui, et je m'excuse_," apologised André.   
  
"Eh, I'm used to people not wanting to believe what I tell 'em," Jack said, hanging the lantern up and leading the way back on deck. "Where d'you want your swag? I'll get the lads to unload."   
  
André looked about him, at the neatly coiled ropes and shining planks, the white sails furled tidily. He walked up to the helm and touched the wheel. Jack said nothing, knowing something of what the man would be feeling at the return of his ship.   
  
Finally, the Frenchman turned back to Jack.   
  
"Give me another five per cent and you can keep her."   
  
That was not what Jack had been expecting to hear. He tried to think of something to say, and for once in his life, failed.   
  
"I couldn't do that," he managed, after a pause. "She's yours."   
  
André ran a bronzed hand along the rail. "I'm settled here," he said. "Found myself a beautiful woman, I live in sight of the water - and now you, Jack Sparrow, you have made me a rich man. Why do I need to go to sea any longer?"   
  
"Because ..." Jack was still floundering, and the concept of someone actually choosing to stay ashore had him doubly flummoxed. He pulled himself together. "Because you're a pirate, cap'n. Goin' t' sea, it's part of you. Or least it should be."   
  
"I have had forty years of the sea," André said. "You're young. One day you will understand. Take my _Nictaux_."   
  
"I'm older than you reckon, André," Jack returned. "But if you're sure - I was lookin' for a vessel to go east in. This one'll serve nicely." He paused. "Five per cent?"   
  
"I'll go no lower."   
  
Jack grinned, and stuck out his hand. "Then, Captain André, we have an accord. You take a little more swag, I take the boat."   
  
The Frenchman shook. Jack looked for some crew and ordered them to start unloading the hold. They hurried to do his bidding.   
  
"Fancy a game of cards this evening?" Jack asked. André let out a guffaw.   
  
"No chance, _mon ami_!" he said. "I think I know better than that now."   
  
Jack shrugged, and they turned back to watching the crew at work. 


	18. Chapter 18

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
The _Nictaux_ sailed from Tortuga a fortnight later. Jack had used the time at harbour to replace much of the rigging with new rope, and some of the hatches too. He stocked up with supplies, and then spent two days recruiting new crew. He had hoped that Gibbs would stay with him - over the past year, he had begun to rely on the old sailor - but Gibbs said no.   
  
"I've a mind to stay put for a bit," he explained, when Jack suggested that he stay on. "It ain't you, Jack; an' I like the pirate life. I just want to sample Tortuga a bit longer."   
  
Deschamps, however, did agree to continue as Jack's first mate, and more than half the crew signed the ship's articles for another voyage. The rest of the numbers were made up from men idling in Tortuga. Jack had been hoping to find his old friend Anamaria in town, but when he enquired after her it turned out she was at sea with another ship. He asked Gibbs to keep an eye out for her, and let her know where he was should she ask.   
  
They sailed on a perfect morning, with a fresh, strong wind and calm seas. Captain André came to see them off, waving from the quayside. Jack doffed his hat and saluted the _Nictaux_'s former owner, before the ship slipped out of the shelter of the harbour into open sea.   
  
Jack had given some thought as to his plans. Although he desperately wanted the _Black Pearl_ back, he was not sure that he could take her. He decided, therefore, to wait and see. If they came upon the _Pearl_, and an opportunity presented itself, then he would seize it with both hands. Otherwise, the _Nictaux_ would head east, for Africa and India.   
  
The first stage of the passage went well, and they cleared the easternmost islands in under two weeks. With a good wind and sunny weather, progress was good. When not occupied with the daily maintenance of the ship, the crew played games, talked, sang songs, and practised their sword skills. Jack insisted on the latter, challenging them all to try and beat him. Some of them came close, but few could match his agility even when they used the most blatant tricks in the book. Afterwards the pirates concentrated on working their way through one of the many barrels of rum Jack had brought on board.  
  
But the weather changed as they approached the coast of Africa, and storms were brewing in the east. Jack took in sail and slowed the _Nictaux_ down, and eventually made the decision to put in at Cape Town for a few days rather than attempt the Cape of Good Hope in current conditions. He had vivid memories of dark nights lashed to the mast, reefing until his fingers nearly dropped off, on his first time in these oceans. That had been nearly twenty years earlier, on the _Black Pearl_, when he had been young and - if not innocent - inexperienced.   
  
In Cape Town, they restocked the hold with fresh food. Jack splashed out and bought his crew some good beef, which was eagerly devoured after weeks of dry, hard, salted fare. Then he allowed them an evening's shore leave, with strict instructions to return before dusk the next day.   
  
The weather improved quickly, and the _Nictaux_ rounded the Cape in calm weather. "Now," said Jack, as he ordered one of the reefs to be taken out of the sails, "let's find some prey." He glanced up at the set of the sails. "Three points to port, Mr Deschamps."   
  
Deschamps adjusted the course. "I have never been to the East," he observed, as the _Nictaux_ picked up speed.   
  
"Oh, it's a wonderful part o' the world," Jack said. "Pretty lasses. Lots of swag. Idiots with frigates to avoid."   
  
Deschamps nodded. He had heard Jack's tales of the East India Company and his daring escape from them. Everyone aboard had. Most of them only half-believed the story - though in fact it was one of the ones Jack exaggerated the least. After all, when a tale involved branding, imprisonment and a night swim in a strange harbour, what needed adding to it?   
  
As they sailed closer to India, the traffic picked up and Jack began ordering raids. They looted and terrorised and fought, and celebrated each successful attack with rum and shanties. There were a few injuries in each raid, one of them serious when a pirate's thigh was slashed, but no deaths. Spirits were high.   
  
Then the weather turned again, and the _Nictaux_ was blown north on a night of high winds and torrential rain. Jack kicked Deschamps off the helm and took it over himself, steering as straight a course as he could. But the little two-master did not cope with stormy weather as well as larger ships he had known, and when morning came she was in a sorry state. Nothing was permanently damaged, but they needed to dock to tidy her up and make some repairs.   
  
The nearest port, according to a rough chart Jack had, was the town of Bom Baia - not somewhere he had ever been before. It was marked as Portuguese on his chart. He ordered the Jolly Roger standard to be taken down, and they sailed into harbour as an unmarked ship, shabby from the storm.   
  
"Captain," said young Sim, "ain't those English colours?"   
  
Jack looked in the direction of Sim's pointing finger. From the top of a building the union flag blew.   
  
"I thought the town was Portugal's?" Deschamps asked.   
  
"So did I," Jack said, eyeing the flag. He raised his voice. "Drop anchor!"   
  
The anchor rattled out, splashing into the water and settling fast.   
  
Jack sent five men ashore with a shopping list of necessities, and himself stayed on board to supervise the start of the repairs. Sails had to be taken down to be mended; as a precaution, he had spare sails put up in their place in case there was the need for a hasty getaway. Some of the pirates settled down with sail needles and began sewing the rips in the canvas together. Others, starting from the opposite end of the ship, made up pails of tar and started caulking the cracks in the boards.   
  
Before too long, the men who had gone ashore returned laden down with new rope and other items. They reported that the town was busy, but mostly with natives, though they had seen a few prosperous-looking white men. Jack eyed the other ships in the harbour and wondered whether any of them belonged to the East India Company. At least one of the frigates seemed likely. But there was no time to waste on speculation - there were repairs to do, and every man was needed to do them. Even Jack rolled up his sleeves and joined in, as the new rope was unrolled and the rigging replaced, line by line. The caulking and sail-mending were going well, and they managed to rerig the foresail before nightfall.   
  
Jack called a halt at dusk, and the weary pirates trooped below to eat. The ship's cook had gone ashore too and returned with baskets of unusual stuff, and had cooked up a spicy stew with some rice and flat circles of bread. After that, Jack ordered the crew to their hammocks. He had no desire to hang around at anchor when there were merchant vessels to loot.   
  
The next day, the repairs went on. It was hot work, and the sun beat down on the deck of the _Nictaux_. Things were going well, until halfway through the afternoon, when Deschamps approached Jack and told him that they had run out of rope.   
  
"I asked for five lengths of 20 ells," Jack said. "Did they not get that?"   
  
"They got four," Deschamps said. "We have need of another."   
  
"Too damned right we do!" said Jack, exasperated. "It was a simple enough instruction. Do we need anythin' else?"   
  
"A few things," Deschamps answered, listing a few small items.   
  
Jack nodded. "All right, keep 'em at it. I'll go and buy them - if you want a job doin' right, best do it yourself, eh?"   
  
"_Oui_," agreed Deschamps. Jack nodded, and was soon rowing his way across the harbour to shore.   
  
He found the land rather too stable, and hurried along to the nearest ship's outfitters. His purchases made, and the order given to have the stuff delivered to the _Nictaux_ within the hour, he set off back towards the harbour.   
  
It was still hot, and Jack strolled along looking about himself with fascination, reflecting that he rather liked this part of the world. Less rum, perhaps, than the Caribbean, but the clothes and people were wonderfully colourful.   
  
He had come ashore just as he was, in breeches and boots with the sleeves of his shirt folded up. It was only when he saw an Englishman in a dark blue suit with a sword at his hip staring at him that Jack realised the pure idiocy of not rolling the sleeves down. Here he was, in the middle of East India Company territory, wandering along displaying their "P" brand for all to see.   
  
The Englishman had been joined by another now, and both were making their way briskly towards Jack. He cursed under his breath, and turned. Without running he made for the other end of the street. There, two roads intersected and there were far more people around, trying to go in different directions in a colourful mass of humanity. Jack slid himself into the crowd, moving quickly but as unobtrusively as he could. He was swept along until he passed the doorway of a shop filled with bright fabrics, and he slipped inside.   
  
The middle-aged woman in green who evidently owned the shop put a hand to her mouth at the sight of Jack, and he hurriedly offered her a polite bow and a smile before gesturing to some of the vivid cotton wraps folded on the shop's shelves. She frowned, and pulled down a long piece of red.   
  
"That'll do," Jack said, holding out a coin. "C'mon, love ..." He looked over his shoulder, and the woman must have picked up on his urgency for she gave him the fabric and took his coin.   
  
Jack shook out the material and examined it. He had seen the local women in these bright outfits, a length of cotton or silk draped over their bodies, and cast over their faces.   
  
The shop owner watched him as he attempted to wrap the red fabric around his body, and then, clearly trying not to laugh, she came to him and deftly folded and tucked and soon had it right.   
  
Tucking telltale beads out of the way, Jack looked down at himself. He thought he probably looked all right - only his kohl-rimmed eyes showing above the red, and he was thankfully slightly built for a man - but he realised that his boots would be a dead giveaway. Cursing under his breath, he kicked the boots off.   
  
The woman smiled at him, and pulled out a piece of rough cotton. She wrapped the boots in the cotton and passed them to him, indicating that he should carry them on his head.   
  
"You're a genius, love," Jack said, nodding his head in thanks. He rested the boots on his head, took a deep breath, and set out again into the crowd.   
  
He walked unhurriedly now, at the same pace as all the people around him. Nobody gave him a second glance, and he turned down towards the harbour. The crowd thinned now, and Englishmen were to be seen as well as the locals. A group of seven of them, swords drawn, were gathered in a group by the gangplank of one of the large frigates. Jack quickened his pace and was soon untying his small boat. As he paddled across to the _Nictaux_, one of the Englishmen called and waved, and then set off at a run in Jack's direction.   
  
Jack looked over his shoulder. His ship was a hundred yards distant, and he quickened his stroke rate.   
  
"Deschamps!" he called, in between strokes. "Get ready to make way."   
  
"_Capitaine_?" Deschamps came to the rail. Jack glanced backwards at him, and then set his teeth and pulled harder.   
  
"Throw me a line," he ordered, as he shipped the oars and came alongside the _Nictaux_, moments later. "And raise that bloody anchor, savvy?"   
  
"Captain," said Deschamps, as he helped Jack on board, "why are you ...?"   
  
He never got to finish his question. Jack pulled off the concealing red drapery and hurried to the helm, shouting orders as he did so. The newly-repaired sails were unfurled, and the _Nictaux_ swung around to leave the harbour.   
  
"Give 'em a shot," Jack said, hauling with all his weight on the helm. One of the ship's little cannon boomed, and a shot hit the water just ahead of a longboat that had been swiftly launched. The _Nictaux_ was moving now, the wind filling her sails, and Jack handed the wheel over to one of his crewmen.   
  
"What was that for?" Deschamps asked, as Jack came down to the main deck.   
  
"East India Company," said Jack, leaning on the rail and watching Bom Baia recede. "But I think we got away. I think we did."   
  
He grinned at Deschamps, clapped him on the shoulder, and went below to find his hat. 


	19. Chapter 19

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** thanks for the recent reviews. I hadn't written the sari-scene with Don Juan consciously in mind, but I do see the similarities!  
  
This chapter's for Kayden Eidyak, who said "so what happened to Burns?"_  
  
----  
  
They sailed until Jack was certain they had not been followed, and then he turned into a secluded and sheltered bay, where the anchor was dropped. Here the water was shallow and calm, and when the tide went out the pirates were able to begin cleaning and repairing the outside of the _Nictaux_ as well as finish the repairs on board.   
  
There were murmurs amongst the crew about the wisdom of sailing waters infested by the East India Company's ships, but Jack waved the criticism away.   
  
"Wherever you sail there'll be folk after you," he pointed out one night, over a barrel of rum. "East India Company, some country's Navy ... the trick is to outdo 'em. That's where the fun is."   
  
"Could be the end of us, too," someone said, morosely.   
  
"Then we'll go down fighting," said Jack. "Rather that than hang, eh?"   
  
After a week at anchor the repairs were complete. The _Nictaux_'s hull was scraped clean of barnacles and weed, and the mended sails and new ropes were hung. "Nearly as good as new," Jack said, as he surveyed the vessel with folded arms. "Excellent. Time to move on."   
  
They set the sails and headed south, keeping parallel to the coastline but at a reasonable distance. Jack wanted to get a little further from Bom Baia before they started attacking ships again, and so the first few days of sailing were quiet and without incident.   
  
On the third day of sailing sails were sighted ahead. Jack ordered his crew to arm themselves, and they kept going with no colours hoisted, keeping an eye on the other ship. On closer inspection it proved to be a medium-sized brigantine with well-used cream sails, sailing, like the _Nictaux_, with no flag flying from the stern.   
  
"_Des pirates_?" questioned Deschamps.   
  
"Mebbe," Jack said, snapping his telescope shut.   
  
Sure enough, when the brigantine was within hailing distance she raised a black flag bearing a be-hatted skull and crossbones. Jack ordered the _Nictaux_'s colours to be raised also, and the two ships greeted each other with a shot across the bows.   
  
"Ahoy there!" came the shout from the brigantine.   
  
"Ahoy!" Jack returned.   
  
The brigantine hove to alongside the _Nictaux_, and Jack could see her captain on the quarterdeck. The other man waved his hat in the air.   
  
"Parley?" he suggested.   
  
Jack glanced at Deschamps, who shrugged.   
  
"_C'est votre choix, capitaine_," the Frenchman said.   
  
"Aye, parley," Jack agreed.   
  
Shortly, gangplanks were laid across the gap between the two ships, and the brigantine's captain crossed to the _Nictaux_.   
  
"Captain Lloyd," he introduced himself, holding out a hand.   
  
Jack took it and shook briefly. "Captain Jack Sparrow. Welcome aboard the _Nictaux_."   
  
Captain Lloyd looked about him. "Handsome little ship ye have here, Captain Sparrow."   
  
"She's not so bad." Jack turned to Deschamps. "Hold the fort for me, mate." Deschamps nodded, and Jack beckoned to Captain Lloyd. "Come and have a drink, cap'n, and we'll discuss business."   
  
"I'd be glad to."   
  
The two captains went below, and Jack uncorked a bottle of best rum and poured his visitor a generous tot. "Have a seat, captain."   
  
Lloyd took the proffered cup, but did not sit, instead prowling the cabin examining the various bits and bobs on the walls and shelves. In truth there was not much - Jack had collected far more souvenirs of his voyages during his time on the _Black Pearl_ - but what there was was varied and interesting. Jack took a seat, put his booted feet up on the cabin table, and watched Lloyd prowl.   
  
"Been out here long?" he asked.   
  
The other captain picked up a small pottery vase and turned it over. "Some years. You've come from the Caribbees."   
  
"Aye, we have," Jack acknowledged. "Is that a problem?"   
  
Lloyd put the vase down, glancing at Jack. "Not at all. In fact I'd like to suggest we sail together fer a while. These waters are fair swarming with East Indiamen, most better-armed than us - have you ever come across the East India Company, Captain Sparrow?"   
  
Without a word, Jack put down his rum and rolled up his sleeve. Lloyd peered at the brand.   
  
"Ah. I see you have."   
  
"It was a long time ago," Jack said. "Different ship. But I'd not say no to the company for a few days."   
  
Captain Lloyd pulled out a chair and sat down. "Where were you headed?"   
  
"Malacca-way," said Jack, shrugging. "Wasn't really headin' anywhere fast."   
  
"Malacca sounds as good as anywhere," Lloyd returned. "What if we find a prize?"   
  
"Then we'll take equal shares," Jack suggested.   
  
Captain Lloyd drained his cup of rum. "Agreed. What say you to anchorin' alongside me tonight - we'll head toward the shore - and celebrating the alliance?"   
  
"Why not?" Jack said. "Then tomorrow we'll go and capture something."   
  
They exchanged smiles, and went back on deck together, talking of the morrow.   
  
As dusk fell, the _Nictaux_ and Lloyd's brigantine, the _Adventure_, were anchored close together off a sandy beach. Gangplanks had been laid between the two vessels, enabling movement from one ship to the other, and the party was in full swing. A fiddle player from the _Nictaux_ had joined forces with an accordionist from the _Adventure_, and the two of them were playing lively reels and hornpipes. Barrels of rum and brandy were broached, and the cooks from both ships had done themselves proud and were keeping the crews supplied with food.   
  
Jack sat with a bottle and watched the two crews mingle. He'd already, drunkenly, told a few of his tales, and was content now to sit and nurse his rum and let the men enjoy themselves. He wasn't sure where Captain Lloyd had gone.   
  
Footsteps sounded on the deck close by, and paused.   
  
"Well, if it ain't Jack Sparrow." There was a metallic grate, and the end of a sharp sword appeared in front of Jack's face.   
  
Jack looked up, and squinted past a scruffy ginger beard. "_Captain_ Jack Sparrow," he said.   
  
The point of the sword was lowered to rest against Jack's neck. "Captain, is it? Come a long way from that scrawny lad you were once - or mebbe you ain't."   
  
Rising slowly, Jack faced the owner of the ginger beard. "Mr Burns," he said. "What in the name o' Neptune are you doing aboard me ship?"   
  
"Came to the party, didn't I?" Burns scowled at Jack. "So you remember me, do you?"   
  
Jack nodded. He did remember Burns - an unpleasant man who had taken a dislike to Jack many years before, when the two were crewmates aboard the _Fiery Dragon_. The whole episode had been decidedly unpleasant for the young Jack, and he had ended up being dumped unceremoniously on Martinique after Burns had set him up for theft. The red-haired man had promised to run Jack through if they ever met again.   
  
"You're with Cap'n Lloyd?" Jack asked. The sword was still pressing lightly into his throat.   
  
"Aye, I'm with Lloyd," Burns said.   
  
"Does he know what sort of a man he's got on his ship?" said Jack. He looked over Burns's shoulder, and saw his crewman Sim meandering past. "Oy! Sim!"   
  
"Captain?" Sim turned. "Are you ..."   
  
"Fine, Sim," Jack said, reassuringly. "Just pop below and fetch me sword, will you? Mr Burns here and I have a little discussion we'd like to finish, savvy?"   
  
"Aye, cap'n." Sim nodded, and hurried off.   
  
"So you really are the captain of this ship?" Burns seemed surprised. "Oh."   
  
Jack reached up and pushed the point of Burns's sword away from his neck. "Aye, oh. And as you're not captain aboard your ship, mate, I suggest you go and ask _your_ captain if he minds you and me settlin' old scores." Sim ran up with Jack's sword, and he drew it and twirled it before Burns's face. "Unless you don't want to settle old scores, Mr Burns?"   
  
Burns's face worked, and then with a wordless growl he sheathed his own blade and stalked off. Jack tipped up his bottle of rum and was disappointed to find it empty.   
  
"Clear a space on deck, Sim," he told the young man. "And fetch Monsieur Deschamps, if you will."   
  
Sim disappeared again.   
  
Jack took off his hat and coat and flexed his right wrist thoughtfully. Last time he had fought Burns the victory had gone to him - not that it had done him much good, ultimately. Maybe this time would be different.   
  
Clutching a mostly-empty bottle of brandy, Deschamps came up. "_Capitaine_?"   
  
"We need space clearing on deck," Jack said without preamble. "Make sure the men stay back."   
  
"What's happening?" Deschamps asked.   
  
"Old scores to settle," Jack explained. "Like I said, just keep the men out of the way."   
  
"_Oui, capitaine_," Deschamps said. "But I do not like it."   
  
"Look, it'll be fine," Jack said airily. "I've beaten the bastard before, I'll do it again. If anything happens, take command. Not that anything will, mind."   
  
Deschamps nodded, and went away again. Twirling his sword experimentally, Jack waited.   
  
Next to arrive were Captain Lloyd, pink-faced from drink, and Burns, whose temper had evidently not cooled in the ten minutes he had been away. He snarled something unintelligible at Jack, who leaned backwards out of the range of Burns's rage.   
  
"Calm down, mate," he said. "Captain Lloyd, I ask your permission to have a duel with your crewman 'ere."   
  
"So I understand," Lloyd said. "You know each other?"   
  
"Brief, unpleasant acquaintance some years back," Jack returned.   
  
"Very well," agreed Captain Lloyd. "Just - don't kill him, Captain Sparrow? I see the two of you don't get on ..."   
  
"Too right we don't," muttered Burns. Lloyd shot him an irritated look.   
  
"You don't get on, but don't kill Mr Burns. He's a good pirate."   
  
Jack nodded. "If that's your condition. I'd be grateful if Mr Burns would in turn refrain from killing me."   
  
Scowling, Burns nodded, reluctant. Jack grinned, and twirled his sword.   
  
"So let's get on wi' it, shall we?" he suggested.   
  
Round about, Deschamps had cleared a space big enough for the duel to take place, and many of the pirates had gathered to watch. Bets were being laid - the crew of the _Nictaux_ placing bets on Jack, the men of the _Adventure_ preferring Burns.   
  
The red-haired man drew his blade, and with a roar of incoherent anger attacked. Jack parried neatly, his feet moving backwards, and the fight was joined.   
  
Burns was still heavier than Jack, and so much slower; but there was more power behind each thrust. Jack found himself having to think quickly to stay out of the other man's range and reach. The amount of rum he had consumed was not a help - luckily, Burns had been drinking too, and was clearly not as alert as he could have been.   
  
They danced backwards and forwards across the deck, to shouts of encouragement from the crews. Jack's hair flew, Burns's brow was damp with sweat. This was no game, this was a fight in earnest. Neither man wanted to give an inch.   
  
The duel went on. At intervals, it seemed as though one or other of them would drop their guard, but save for the odd scratch neither pirate really had an advantage.   
  
"So how've you been, all these years?" Jack asked, attempting an uppercut.   
  
"Better for thinkin' you dead," Burns panted.   
  
"Sorry to disappoint." Jack parried and riposted. "I don't kill easy, me."   
  
"What happened to that ship you were always talkin' of?" questioned Burns. "Not so great after all, was she?"   
  
Jack felt a rush of pure hot anger sweep through him, and without replying he redoubled his efforts and laid into Burns as though his life did indeed depend on it. In a few moments, the older man was breathing heavily, clearly tired, and the next thing Jack knew he had managed to sweep Burns's sword out of his hand. The duel was over.   
  
The _Nictaux_'s men cheered wildly, and money began to change hands. Jack bent and picked up Burns's sword.   
  
"I'll keep this, if you don't mind," he said. He turned to Captain Lloyd, who had been watching from close by. "And I'd be obliged, cap'n, if you kept this man off me ship from now on."   
  
"Aye, I'll do that," Lloyd agreed. "I don't reckon I want to know what went on betwixt the two of ye, but I don't want it goin' on. Get on with you, Mr Burns, back to th'_Adventure_."   
  
Burns, glaring, stomped off towards the gangplank.   
  
Lloyd watched him go. "He does have a temper on him."   
  
Sheathing his sword, Jack raised his eyebrows. "That's one way of puttin' it, mate."   
  
"But I'm lookin' forward to finding a prize," Lloyd said. "I reckon the two of us could do some damage."   
  
Jack picked up Burns's sword. "I hope we can. Take what we can, eh?"   
  
"And give nothin' back," Lloyd finished. "We sail tomorrow?"   
  
"We sail tomorrow," Jack agreed. He watched as the other captain wandered back towards the _Adventure_, and then turned to find a fresh drink. 


	20. Chapter 20

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** Apologies for the lengthy delay between chapters this time - I was away, and then Real Life (!) has been getting in the way of important things like writing since I got back. Shouldn't happen again. I plan to rattle on with this now as fast as I can. Thanks for reviews and comments!_  
  
----  
  
The captain cowered before the combined threat of pistol and blade. "We have nothing!" he said. "Please - don't kill us!"   
  
Jack leered. "I might not, if you 'and over yer cargo," he returned, doing his best 'Evil Pirate' act. "Dunno whether me partner in crime," he waved his pistol in the general direction of Captain Lloyd, "will be so gracious."   
  
Lloyd, occupied in directing the search for loot, paused and nodded at Jack.   
  
"So," Jack continued, turning his attention back to the man before him, "you'd be best givin' up easy - savvy?"   
  
The captain caved, and soon crewmen from both the _Black Pearl_ and the _Adventure_ were carrying goods over to their own ships. Jack watched, keeping a close eye on the captured captain, and shortly Lloyd came to join him.   
  
"Jack."   
  
"Sam," Jack returned. They had been on first name terms for a week or so, following a couple of successful raids that seemed to cement the two ships' relationship as consorts. Jack was happy enough to have Sam Lloyd and the _Adventure_ around, and the men on both vessels enjoyed the companionship.   
  
"Good haul," Lloyd said.   
  
"Aye, it is." Jack grinned cheerfully at his captive, who was glaring at the last comment.   
  
"I'm going to take some men with me," Lloyd continued. "Couple of my lads have come down with the scurvy; they ain't well and I could do with the extra hands."   
  
"Prisoners?" Jack said, moving closer to Lloyd and lowering his voice. "You sure you need the men?"   
  
"Of course I'm bloody sure, Jack," Lloyd said. "Anyways, I'll be taking 'em on as deck hands, not to shove 'em in the brig."   
  
"Meaning you'll be wanting them to turn pirate," Jack clarified. "Why not just ask who wants to come?"   
  
Lloyd stared at Jack as if he had gone mad - or, possibly, madder. "Nobody'll _want_ to come. I'll just grab the likeliest-looking men."   
  
"Then how'll this poor fellow get himself to land?" asked Jack, gesturing towards the captured captain. "If you take men, he'll be short."   
  
"He'll manage."   
  
"Can't you manage? Borrow some of my crew, if you want. We're s'posed to be stealing stuff, not the men on the ship."   
  
"Come on, Jack, are you a pirate or are you not?" Lloyd's eyes were scornful. "Don't go telling me you've never taken a prisoner?"   
  
"I can't say that," Jack said, "but usually there's a better reason than some lads being ill. You'll get better work out of them as want to come with you - and I'd wager some of them would."   
  
"Damn it!" Lloyd swore, turning on his heel. "We've no time for daft arguments, Jack Sparrow. Poor excuse for a pirate that you are." He called two of his crewmen over and briskly ordered them to find four sailors and take them across to the _Adventure_. The selected men, protesting violently, were bodily dragged over the gangplank, and Lloyd followed them.   
  
Jack turned back to the ship's captain. "Sorry about that, mate," he said, sincerely.   
  
The other man merely scowled. Jack shrugged, looked him over, and took a rather lovely jewelled dagger from his belt. "Ta." Raising his voice, he ordered his men back to the _Nictaux_.   
  
As they sailed away a short while later, Deschamps caught Jack watching the _Adventure_, close-hauled a few hundred yards distant.   
  
"_Qu'est-ce qu'il y a_?" the Frenchman asked, quietly.   
  
Jack turned. "Eh? What's that?"   
  
"What's wrong?" Deschamps repeated.   
  
Gazing at the _Adventure_, his eyes serious, Jack sent his first mate a shining and carefree grin. "Nothin'."   
  
Deschamps looked hard at Jack, but his captain showed no sign of being about to volunteer any more words.   
  
The two ships kept going alongside each other for another three days. But Jack was itching to escape from Lloyd's company now. He needed independence, and the freedom to do as he would without having to factor in another vessel. He just was not sure how to get rid of the _Adventure_ without seriously damaging relations with the other ship; and so he resolved to wait for the opportune moment and take it when it presented itself.   
  
It came with a sudden wind. Until then, the weather had been moderate - enough breeze to carry them forward, no rain, and blue skies. On the third day after their last raid, the clouds rolled in and the rain began, and with it came the wind.   
  
Jack grinned. Though the _Nictaux_ was the smaller ship, she was also lighter and sleeker, and he thought that properly tested she would also be faster than the _Adventure_. Now was the chance. He took the helm from his second mate, a Scotsman named McDougall, and began to call orders. His men scurried about the ship, piling on as much canvas as Jack dared to carry. The wind filled the sails, and the _Nictaux_ surged forwards. To port, the _Adventure_ began to fall back.   
  
"Will she take the canvas?" MacDougall asked, hovering close to the helm.   
  
Shaking water from his hat, Jack nodded. "Aye, she'll take it. We won't lose a sail." He turned a smile towards the second mate. "Anyways, I got Sim to pinch one of the _Adventure_'s spare tops'ls a week ago. We've got the extra canvas; she don't."   
  
MacDougall laughed a rolling guffaw of a laugh, and on Jack's instruction went off to see to the set of the foresails.   
  
The _Nictaux_ picked up speed, her captain guiding her with sure and steady movements of the helm. Their consort was being left behind now, a clear length astern. Jack let out a whoop that was borne aloft on the wind, even as the ship was lifted on the crest of a wave, and his crew caught the exuberance and cheered too.   
  
He pushed the ship as hard as she could go for the rest of the evening, and by dusk they were well clear of the _Adventure_. With the darkness, Jack ordered the topsails down and reefed the mainsail and foresail, in order to sail safely without the light. He left the ship in the safe hands of Deschamps, and retired to his cabin to sleep. By morning, the _Adventure_ was nowhere in sight.   
  
They sailed on. The storm cleared, and everyone was in a good mood. They took another two small merchant vessels, easily and without damage, and put into Malacca twelve days later to unload and sell the loot.   
  
"That was a good haul," MacDougall said, with satisfaction. Jack and his mates were counting silver in the captain's cabin.   
  
Jack made a note of the total takings in the logbook and nodded. "Excellent. Would've been better without Lloyd."   
  
"Having a consort kept the men happy, _capitaine_," Deschamps pointed out. "It was only for a little time."   
  
"Ah, cap'n's just too happy on his own," said MacDougall.   
  
"Not that happy," Jack said, looking up, and closing the logbook decisively. "Let's go ashore, gents - this town has some delectable ladies who'd be glad of our company, I reckon."   
  
Deschamps and MacDougall exchanged looks, and both nodded. "Aye!" MacDougall said, enthusiastic. "The ladies it is."   
  
They went ashore, leaving two pirates on watch, and made their way to a tavern bustling with business. There were several shiploads of white men getting cheerfully drunk on the local beverages, and a crowd of slim, pretty young women preparing to relieve the sailors of their coins. Some young men, almost as pretty as the women, circulated too.   
  
Jack and his mates settled down at a table and ordered drinks. One of the young men, clad only in a piece of bright fabric wrapped around his narrow hips like a skirt, came up to them and smiled suggestively at Jack. Jack grinned back and gave the boy a pat on his rump to send him away, winking instead at a girl with flowers in her hair. Soon the young man was occupied across the room, and the girl was settled on Jack's lap threading some of the flowers into his braids.   
  
"Dunno how you do it, cap'n," MacDougall said. "Is it the what-d'you-call-it," he circled his eyes with a finger, "or what?"   
  
Jack smoothed a smudge of kohl away from under his right eye. "It's me nat'ral charm, savvy? Lasses can't resist it." He snaked an arm around the girl's shoulders, and she leaned into the embrace. "See?"   
  
MacDougall downed his drink and looked morosely at Deschamps. "We've no luck against that, Jean."  
  
"None at all," Deschamps agreed. He held out his cup to be refilled by a charming young lady in blue. "But then, it is him who's the captain."   
  
"You've the right of it," said Jack. He put some coins on the table. "I find silver works too, though. Have fun, lads." He touched his hat to them, and wandered off with his arm around the girl.   
  
Deschamps and MacDougall exchanged glances, shook their heads, and settled to some serious drinking. 


	21. Chapter 21

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
**Author's note:** 1) Timecheck - it's now about 1683, a couple of years before the movie. 2) Credit for the mad plot in this chapter actually goes to a real life pirate, Captain Davis. His tale, and that of lots of other real pirates, can be found in a tremendous book first published in 1724; written by a mystery man called Captain Charles Johnson, "A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pirates". A fascinating and absorbing resource. 3) I suppose this is another chapter that doesn't drive the plot forward very much (like the Spanish Navy chapter). Nevertheless, I hope you find it amusing and fun._  
  
----  
  
"So how, exactly, does this work?" MacDougall asked, scratching his head.   
  
Jack adjusted his hat and combed out his beard with his fingers. "We toddle ashore - you, me 'n Deschamps - and let it be known we've a rich cargo to sell. Governor invites us to dinner."   
  
"I got that part, cap'n," MacDougall said, "but I ain't rightly understood the rest of it."   
  
Flashing his first mate a winning grin, Jack clapped him on the shoulder. "It'll all come clear, mate. Just follow me."   
  
"Aye, cap'n." But the Scotsman still looked doubtful, and even dour as the three men descended into one of the _Nictaux_'s boats. The pirates at the oars set up a steady rhythm, and the little boat shot towards the port.   
  
Once ashore, Jack turned to his crew. "You know what to do, lads." The pirates touched their hats, and set about mooring the boat to the quayside. Deschamps and MacDougall, both in their best coats and hats, exchanged mystified glances. But they had known Jack Sparrow for some four years now, through storm and high wind, and there was not much that could surprise them.   
  
The crossing from the East had been without major incident - just the usual round of storms, raids and spots of calm. They had been away from the Caribbean three years, roaming the Eastern islands and the Indian coast, running the gauntlet of the East India Company. Jack had buried ten of his crewmen at sea; some of them the victims of illness and some of them killed in fights. But he had easily replaced them, and the pirates aboard the _Nictaux_ were satisfied with their lot.   
  
On their return to the Caribbean, the ship had made landfall first at one of the smaller, easternmost isles for supplies. Jack decided then to carry out a few more raids before returning the _Nictaux_ to her home port of Tortuga, and he had set a course for Nassau in the Bahamas. Rumour had it that the rule of the British governor there was fast failing - Jack wanted to test the rumour out.   
  
Walking the streets towards the governor's residence certainly seemed to support the talk. The buildings looked shabby, and there were few Marines patrolling. Jack rested one hand on the newly polished hilt of his sword, and looked about him with interest.   
  
"What d'ye think, cap'n?" asked MacDougall in an undertone.   
  
"Hopeful," said Jack. "Aye, very hopeful. Now just stay sharp, and this'll all go perfectly, savvy?"   
  
"_Nous savons_," Deschamps reassured him.   
  
The little party of pirates arrived at the imposing gates to the governor's large house, set in lush grounds. Jack pushed them open, and they headed towards the main door.   
  
"Nice," said MacDougall, nervously. "Like the time I visited Glamis Castle as a wee lad." He adjusted his hat for the fifth time in as many minutes.   
  
Jack, however, seemed perfectly calm as he strode to the doors and pulled the bell-pull sharply. They waited; within a few minutes footsteps could be heard hurrying to the door, and shortly it swung open.   
  
"May I help you?"   
  
Doffing his hat, Jack beamed at the black-suited butler who had answered the door. "Certainly, my man!" he said, his voice smoothed of accent to such an extent that both Deschamps and MacDougall had to work hard to disguise their astonishment. "I am Captain James Crowe, of the merchant vessel the _Nictaux_. My officers, Messieurs Deschamps and MacDougall. We have just landed with a rich cargo and are come to pay our respects to the Governor."   
  
"Governor Sutton is in his study," the butler returned, with a slight, impeccably polite bow. "If you would follow me, Captain Crowe, I will show you to the drawing room where he will receive you."   
  
"Much obliged," Jack said.   
  
As they followed the butler into the mansion, Jack turned and gave his companions a grin. He was overjoyed with the success of his modest plan so far, though fooling a mere butler was child's play compared with the task that awaited them; fooling the governor.   
  
The drawing room was ornate and very British, and very stuffy. The butler opened a window, and disappeared to go and find Governor Sutton. Jack chose a chair and carefully sat down, flicking the ends of his coat back over the seat rather than crumple them. His mates fidgeted, neither of them at ease in this environment.   
  
Shortly, the butler returned, holding open the door and announcing: "Governor Stephen Sutton of Nassau."   
  
The governor entered, a tall, florid man in a dandyish dark green coat.   
  
Jack rose, and made a brief, straight-backed bow. "Governor. So kind of you to receive us, sir."   
  
"Not at all, captain," the governor returned, crossing the room and offering his hand to Jack. "Truth be told, it is increasingly seldom a merchant makes safe berth in our harbour."   
  
"Is that so?" Jack raised his eyebrows and feigned surprise.   
  
"It is - please, do sit down - these waters are positively infested with pirates. Infested, I tell you! Did you not encounter any of the bastards on your voyage?"   
  
"No, thankfully." Sitting down, Jack withdrew a folded piece of parchment from his jacket. "We had excellent winds and made the crossing in good time."   
  
"You have come from England, Captain Crowe?" Governor Sutton enquired. Two maids, pretty and demure in blue dresses, arrived and began to serve tea.   
  
Jack took a cup and saucer. "No, from the East Indies, sir. We have a hold packed to the brim, the utter brim, with riches. It has been a most profitable voyage."   
  
Over the rim of his teacup, the governor's eyes gleamed. Jack knew he had hooked the man - it was not just pirates that lusted after treasure.   
  
"Tell me more," said Sutton. So Jack did, laying it on thick, telling the governor about the silks and silver the _Nictaux_ was laden with. And truthfully, she was laden, for the raids had all been fruitful. Jack talked and sipped his tea, whilst the governor listened enthralled and MacDougall and Deschamps loitered in the background and said nothing.   
  
"And you say not all your goods are spoken for, captain?" Governor Sutton asked, when Jack finally stopped speaking.   
  
"Fully a third," Jack said, pulling a number from thin air. He had no intention of selling the governor anything.   
  
The governor licked his lips, a hungry look in his eyes. "I would be interested in seeing some samples," he said. "Perhaps you and your officers would be kind enough to accept an invitation to dine with us this evening, and you could bring me a selection?"   
  
"You are too kind, Governor Sutton," said Jack. "We would be delighted."   
  
"Then it is settled. Shall we say six?"   
  
"Six it is!" Jack agreed. "I look forward to it. Now, do not let us detain you from your work any longer, governor."   
  
They rose, and after cordial farewells, the pirates were shown out by the butler.   
  
Once out of the gates, Jack turned to MacDougall and Deschamps. "Well, I don't want to say 'told ye so'," he said, "but ..."   
  
"Aye, nice work, cap'n," MacDougall said.   
  
The three men returned to their boat, where they found the crewmen waiting. They sprang to their feet and began to untie the little craft from the quayside. Jack and his mates climbed in, and soon all the men were back on board the _Nictaux_. Turning to his crew, Jack said: "Well?"   
  
"We scouted about a bit, as you said, cap'n," Sim reported. "Town's not well defended. There's a small garrison, like, for the Marines, but there ain't many of them."   
  
"We looked through a winder," added Sim's companion, a young pirate known as Cutlass Mick on account of his sword fighting skills. "They've not got many weapons, neither."   
  
"Excellent," said Jack. "Extra ration o' rum for the four of you. Now, listen up, all!"   
  
The crew gathered, attentive, and listened as Jack outlined the next stage of his plan. There were some mutterings and expressions of doubt, but by dinnertime, everyone aboard the _Nictaux_ knew what they were doing.   
  
Jack went below and rummaged around in his cabin until he found a rather nice velvet coat he had taken off a merchant a few months before. He changed out of the silk coat he had worn for the earlier visit to the governor, tied a clean white cravat around his neck, and strapped a dagger to his forearm before putting on the velvet coat. A floppy, flamboyant hat with a feather completed the ensemble.   
  
He examined himself in the long, cracked mirror propped against the cabin wall, and smoothed down his beard again. It had not taken kindly to being unbraided, and was inclined to curliness. His hair was an easier matter, being pulled back with a length of leather, the various beads concealed moderately well.   
  
Offering his reflection a polite bow, Jack nodded. All was as it should be. He glanced around the cabin, checked he had everything, and went back on deck with a spring in his step.   
  
The three pirates arrived at the governor's mansion in time for dinner, and were shown again into the drawing room where the butler served them glasses of wine. Shortly, Governor Sutton arrived and they went in to dine.   
  
By any standards, the meal would have been good; but compared to recent fare aboard the _Nictaux_ (hard biscuits and salted meat, for the most part), it was ambrosia. Dish after dish of meat and fish and vegetables were brought out, and MacDougall and Deschamps tucked in with gusto. Jack ate heartily too, but kept up his veneer of being a gentleman merchant captain. Expensive imported wine flowed in plentiful quantities, and by dessert Governor Sutton's face was distinctly red.   
  
After dinner, they retired to the governor's study, where Jack laid out small samples of the goods they had plundered. Sutton looked them over carefully, drinking as he did so. The hand on the clock on the wall crept round to eight.   
  
"What do you think?" Jack asked, once the governor had had time to examine the goods.   
  
Sutton looked up. "Excellent, Captain Crowe, simply excellent."   
  
"Glad you approve of the quality," Jack said.   
  
"What would you like for the goods?" Governor Sutton asked.   
  
Jack grinned, and dropped his cultured accent. "You'll show me where the wealth of this town is kept, and hand it over nice and quiet-like without a fuss - savvy?"   
  
Sutton stared, the glass in his hand starting to shake. "I beg your pardon, Crowe?"   
  
"Pardon given," said Jack, cheerfully. "I'm afraid you've just become a victim of those pirates you hate so much, mate. Now, let's have the stuff and you and your little kingdom will escape scot-free. But you'd better hurry. If me and me mates aren't back on board our ship afore nine," he gestured to the clock, "she'll fire on Nassau. It's your choice."   
  
With a gentle thud, Governor Sutton fainted dead away.   
  
Jack prodded the man's unconscious body. "Bloody landlubber," he said. "All right, we'll just find what he has ourselves, and get out of here."   
  
The search was brisk and thorough. The three men emptied drawers and boxes and emerged twenty minutes later, triumphant with a chest of coin - Nassau's main treasury, it seemed - and various other valuable items. At the quayside, they were met by members of Jack's crew who had loaded their boat with muskets taken from the Marines' garrison whilst the guards slept off their own ale-drenched dinner.   
  
A short time later, the _Nictaux_ was slipping smoothly out of Nassau harbour, having successfully liberated the town of half its weaponry and most of its wealth.   
  
"An' all without us firing a shot!" said MacDougall, amazed.   
  
"Welcome back to the Caribbean, mate," Jack said. "We're home." 


	22. Chapter 22

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
One week later, the _Nictaux_ sailed into Tortuga harbour. The crew were in a good mood, and cheered madly as Jack gave the order to lower the anchor. It rattled out through the hawser and splashed into the water, and they were at last in their home port.   
  
The pirates seemed keen to be off, but Jack gathered them together and ordered the ship to be tidied. "Nobody's going ashore before the decks are clean enough to drink rum off and nothin's out of place," he said.   
  
To their credit, the men nodded and set to, bringing out mops and pails to start swabbing the decks. In a remarkably short time, the ship was pin-neat and the boats were being launched to take the pirates ashore. Jack's pocket was heavy with a small bag of coins, destined for the previous owner of the _Nictaux_ - the Frenchman Captain André - who was living with his mistress in a small house close to the harbour.   
  
As it turned out, the captain himself was not at home. His mistress looked slightly disapprovingly at Jack, but conceded the information that André was to be found in the 'Faithful Bride'. Jack thanked her with a bow, and set off towards the tavern.   
  
Once there, the night passed quickly and pleasantly; and, for all Jack could remember the next morning, ended pleasantly too, in the arms of a soft-bosomed Tortugan whore. He left the girl's rooms late, and headed blearily towards the harbour, hat pulled down low over hungover eyes. His mind was mostly on the _Nictaux_, and the various small repairs that needed to be done to her before they went ... well, wherever they were heading next. He had not quite decided on his future plans, and thought they would probably stay several weeks in Tortuga, if not longer.   
  
Occupied with his thoughts, Jack rounded a corner and walked into something that yielded with a curse and the thud of several parcels hitting the ground.   
  
"Idiot!" the object said, in furious tones, bending to pick up the parcels.   
  
Jack tipped the brim of his hat back and peered at the slim figure in shirt and breeches who was gathering together the scattered shopping. "Sorry, mate," he said. "Here, let me help you."   
  
The other person looked up, briefly, and he caught a glimpse of angry dark eyes over the parcels.   
  
"Huh."   
  
Wondering what to say next, Jack handed over some packages mutely, and the young man he had bumped into straightened with his arms full.   
  
"These things 'appen," Jack said. "Nothing broken, I hope."   
  
He expected a bitter response, and was surprised when he got silence. He tried peering under the brim of the floppy hat the other was wearing - not a great hat, he considered - but got nowhere.   
  
The silence lasted for a few long minutes, and Jack was working out how to escape, when the young man spoke.   
  
"When did you get in, Jack?"   
  
Jack stared for a moment. The other laughed, and pulled off his floppy hat.   
  
"Anamaria!" Jack found a genuine smile spreading across his face. "You look ..." he tailed off, for once lost for words, as he examined his old friend. He had taken her for a boy at first, thanks to her clothes and the concealing hat, but now that her hair swung free down her back he saw his mistake. It had been a good five years since the two had met, and he had forgotten Anamaria's stern beauty - too often hidden by men's clothes and a grim expression. But now her eyes had lost their anger, and she was smiling broadly back at him.   
  
"Look what?" she asked now, shifting the weight of the parcels in her arms.   
  
"Good," he said, honestly. "Been at sea?"   
  
"Came in a week ago," Anamaria returned. "Been aboard the _Relentless_."   
  
"Never heard of her," Jack said. "Good ship?"   
  
"A ship," shrugged Anamaria, her face non-committal. "You?"   
  
"Docked last night," Jack returned. "Me ship, the _Nictaux_, 's docked in the harbour."   
  
"Your ship?" Anamaria shifted the parcels again, and Jack picked a few of them off the top of the pile. "What about the _Pearl_? You have not given up on her?"   
  
"Given up?" Jack said. "No. Never. Why would I do that? I'll keep looking for the _Pearl_, but it's a question of waiting for the opportune moment, love.You know that." He paused. "Nah, the _Nictaux_'s a little thing I've been sailing for a while now. Neat little craft." He gestured, as best he could with his arms full of packages. "Come and have a look."   
  
Anamaria frowned. "I should get these to my ship."   
  
"Drop 'em off, and come for a tot of rum," he suggested.   
  
"Rum?" She laughed. "Jack, it's morning!"   
  
"Never too early for rum."   
  
She kept laughing, but agreed to his plan - with the proviso that rum was not an integral part of the expedition.   
  
The _Relentless_ was a slightly shabby square-rigger moored to the quayside. Anamaria trotted up the gangplank, deposited her parcels in the arms of a sailor on deck, and turned straight back round. Jack tried to put his arm around her as they headed towards the _Nictaux_'s boats, but she batted his fluttering hand away and gave him a severe look. He smiled at her, putting on his best innocent face, and she relaxed her glare.   
  
They cast off the _Nictaux_'s smallest boat and Jack took the oars, pulling a steady rhythm across the bay to the ship. Sitting in the stern, Anamaria's eyes flickered between Jack and the approaching vessel, but she said nothing until they were both aboard the _Nictaux_.   
  
"She's not the _Pearl_."   
  
"No, she's not the _Pearl_." Jack caressed the rail, and looked around for something to tidy, but the crew had left no line out of place. "But she's a good little ship. Clap enough canvas on and she'll take you wherever you want to go, and who could ask more?"   
  
"True enough." Anamaria squinted upwards at the mainmast. "And the crew?"   
  
"Good men," Jack said. "Got a couple of good mates, carpenter's a gem, rest of 'em aren't so bad neither." He paused, remembering something. "Did you ever meet a man by the name of Gibbs? Old Navy man. Whiskery."   
  
She nodded. "Aye, I did. It was he who got me the berth on the _Relentless_. He said you taught him how to be a pirate."   
  
"Pirate, mebbe," said Jack. "But he was already a good sailor. Is he in port?"   
  
"He is always in port," Anamaria returned. "He is one of those who finds crews for other men. Sometimes he goes to sea, for a while. But now, everyone knows that Joshamee Gibbs is the man to go to for a crew."   
  
"Is he, now?" Jack said. "That's interesting." He gestured at the ship. "What do you think? Grand tour?"   
  
She nodded, and he led her off around the vessel. Anamaria admired the packed cargo hold, and seemed to approve of the neat quarters below. They ended up in Jack's cabin, which was in its usual messy state, charts strewn across the table. She leafed through the parchments, and looked up at him.   
  
"Are you leaving again?"   
  
"Shortly. Maybe." Jack dug a bottle of rum out of a cupboard and held it out. "Rum?"   
  
"You said there would be no rum."   
  
"I said rum wouldn't be the purpose of the expedition, love," he pointed out. "This ain't the purpose, it's just refreshment, like."   
  
Anamaria perched on the edge of the table. "Why do you drink so much, Jack?"   
  
He tipped the bottle to his mouth, and felt a rush of warmth rush to his belly. "Pirate?" She just looked at him, unsmiling, and he lowered the bottle. "What?"   
  
"Gibbs reckoned you were mostly drunk. Said it made no difference to the way you sailed, but ..."   
  
"Look, comin' from the man whose skin is always full of something," said Jack, defensive, "I call that unfair. Here we are, haven't seen each other for five years, and you're worrying I'm drinking too much. When there's a town full o' men who're _constantly_ sozzled. And I don't drink much more than I used to."   
  
"_Non_?"   
  
"_Non_." He corked the bottle and put it down. "Honest."   
  
"You're never honest."   
  
He grinned. "Course not. Pirate, remember?"   
  
Finally letting herself smile, Anamaria shook her head at him, fondly. "You are as mad as ever, Jack Sparrow. I think I missed you."   
  
"I know I missed you," he said.   
  
There was noise from outside, as a boat came alongside and people climbed aboard the _Nicataux_. Jack straightened his hat.   
  
"Better go and see who that is," he said. "Coming?"   
  
She nodded. "Lead the way, Captain Sparrow."   
  
It turned out that those coming aboard were Deschamps and other members of the crew. They brought supplies - casks of meat and fish - and paused in the unloading of the boat as Jack and Anamaria emerged on deck.   
  
"_Bonjour, capitaine_," Deschamps said, with a knowing grin at Anamaria.   
  
"Mr Deschamps," Jack returned, "I'd like you to meet an old crewmate of mine. Anamaria, this is me first mate, Jean Deschamps. Speaks your lingo."   
  
"I speak Creole," Anamaria said.   
  
Jack was tempted to say that French and Creole amounted to the same thing, but knew that would be pushing his luck a little. So he forebore, and merely shot Anamaria a swift grin.   
  
Deschamps nodded at Anamaria in a friendly fashion. "_Mademoiselle_."   
  
"Ana," said Anamaria. "_Vous êtes français_?"   
  
"Like our ship," Deschamps said in English.   
  
Jack and Anamaria stood aside, and watched as the men unloaded the supplies. Leaning on the rail, Jack glanced sideways at his friend. "So, fancy joining us when we sail?"   
  
She examined her fingernails. "I can't. The articles for the _Relentless_, they have another six months." Shrugging, she looked at him from under the brim of her hat. "I am sorry, Jack. You know I would come, if I could."   
  
"S'alright."   
  
They fell silent. Across the deck, one of the men dropped a barrel, and Jack hurried to make sure nothing was damaged and give the pirate responsible a brief tongue-lashing. Anamaria smiled, and while he was occupied, slipped away.   
  
The _Relentless_ sailed that evening. Jack watched her go from the top of the _Nictaux_'s foremast, and wished he had tried to persuade Anamaria to stay. But there was no use in crying over a lost sail, as it were, and philosophically he decided to settle to making the repairs on his own ship and following the other vessel's lead, as soon as possible. Tortuga was good, but there was no doubt in Jack's mind that the open sea was far, far better. 


	23. Chapter 23

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
Deschamps looked doubtfully out at the approaching vessel, and back at Jack. "Are you sure we can take her, captain?"   
  
"Are we not the _Nictaux_?" Jack asked. "We'll take her." He squinted up at the sails. "Two points to starboard!"   
  
At the helm, MacDougall adjusted as his captain asked. Jack looked out at the sea, watching the merchant frigate a short distance behind, and grinned at the prospect of a fight. His men were already ready, armed and waiting, and the cannon were loaded with shot. It had been a few weeks since they had had a proper burst of violence, and some of the pirates were clearly itching for a chance to exercise their sword arms. Truth be told, Jack himself was itching for a chance to exercise his sword arm. And so he had rather disregarded Deschamps' concerns about the relative size of the frigate when compared to the _Nictaux_.   
  
He turned his head to Deschamps. "Run out our colours, Mr Deschamps."   
  
The Frenchman nodded, still looking somewhat unhappy, and went to obey. Soon the wind blew out the faded sable of the Jolly Roger, the sun catching the grinning white skull. Jack watched the frigate intently to see how she would respond, and felt the familiar surge of excitement course through him when she began to ready her guns. The snub noses of the cannon poked out of the larger ship's sleek side, and through his telescope Jack could see men hurrying about the frigate's deck.   
  
He looked up again at the tell-tales, and nodded. Now was the right time.   
  
"Bring her round!" he sang out, his voice carrying to the topmasts.   
  
MacDougall hauled on the helm, the men hauled on the sheets, and the _Nictaux_ swung around to rush back towards the frigate. Jack drew his sword.   
  
"One shot broadsides!" he called. The ship shuddered as the first gun crew fired their cannon, the ball splashing into the sea a few yards distant from the frigate. "Heave to and prepare to board!" Jack ordered.   
  
The pirates cheered, and those not occupied with taking in sail seized the grappling ropes, ready to throw them across the rapidly-decreasing gap between the two vessels. But then there was a boom, a cloud of acrid smoke, and the _Nictaux_ lurched.   
  
Jack's free hand flew out, searching for something to hold.   
  
"Cap'n, we've been hit!"   
  
"Return fire!" Jack shouted. "Return fire at will! And board her, you lubbers!" He ran to the side and peered over, trying to see the damage.   
  
The air now was full of smoke and noise as the two ships fired at each other. Some of the pirates had swung across to the frigate, following their captain's orders, and through the smoke the sound of blades clashing could be heard.   
  
Jack gritted his teeth. The _Nictaux_ did not seem to be taking on too much water, and was holding her own for now. He called out another command to keep firing at the frigate, and taking hold of a nearby shroud, launched himself across the chasm of water between the vessels.   
  
Landing with his accustomed agility, Jack looked around for the frigate's captain. He appeared to be on the quarterdeck, shouting orders and encouragement to his men. Jack gripped his sword and set off.   
  
He was dodging a duel and weaving around the frigate's mainmast when the crack sounded. Automatically, Jack looked up, expecting to see one of the frigate's masts begin to fall, but a shout from MacDougall aboard the _Nictaux_ caught his attention. His eyes flicked across to his own ship, and horrified he watched as the foretopsail, and the section of foremast it was rigged to, toppled slowly to the deck.   
  
The crew of the merchant frigate cheered, and renewed their efforts in the many small hand-to-hand fights that were going on. Jack hesitated, uncertain, his attention torn between the crippled _Nictaux_ and the captain of the frigate. He had two options - either continue the fight, try and take the frigate and abandon his graceful French lady; or return to the _Nictaux_ while she could still limp away, and save her.   
  
"Captain!" It was Sim, his arm bleeding. "Captain, we've lost three men, they're dead. Stabbed. What are we going to do?"   
  
Jack looked at the young man, at the plea in his eyes, and made his choice. He sheathed his sword.   
  
"Back t' the _Nictaux_!" he shouted, raising his voice above the clamour of the swords and the cries of the duellers. "Back to the _Nictaux_!"   
  
Sim shot him a grateful look, and grasping the nearest line swung back to the pirate ship. Jack repeated the order, and slowly the pirates began to respond, one by one leaving their fights with a last angry thrust of a blade or a swing of a fist. The merchant sailors jeered them off, but the captain on the quarterdeck watched impassively.   
  
Jack waited until all his men were safely back aboard their vessel, and casting a regretful glance towards the bodies of the three dead pirates, sprawled on the frigate's deck, he gave the merchant captain a brief, polite bow. Then he took hold of a shroud and returned to the _Nictaux_.   
  
The men had already begun to clear the debris of the wrecked foremast. In falling, it had demolished a section of rail and torn a hole in the decking. MacDougall had ordered the main foresail to be furled, and had rigged the mizzensail. Jack hurried to the helm.   
  
"Will she sail?"   
  
"She'll try," the Scotsman said. "We've little choice, though, cap'n - it's sail or wait here to be blown apart." He gestured at the frigate, where the crew were hurrying around, laden with shot. Jack realised that the captain was not going to let them escape that easily. He nodded.   
  
"Then let's get underway. Turn her into the wind, Mr MacDougall."   
  
MacDougall nodded, and obeyed. Jack called orders to the crew, and to their credit - even with their injuries - they hastened to act. Shortly, the _Nictaux_ was moving away from the frigate, albeit slowly. A last shot landed just short of the stern.   
  
"Cowards," said MacDougall bitterly, adjusting so that the ship's few sails had all the wind they could get. "Could they nae just let us go?"   
  
"No," Jack said, watching the _Nictaux_'s wake lengthen, "they couldn't. Few men would."   
  
Deschamps came to the helm, his face streaked with blood from a cut on his forehead.   
  
"_Alors_," he said, shortly. "What 'appens now, _capitaine_?"   
  
Jack turned, and looked at his ship. The crew had gathered on the main deck; a ration of fresh water had evidently been drawn and those skilled in surgery were beginning to patch up the injured. A pile of crumpled canvas lay below the shortened foremast, the rigging tangled about it. It was a sad sight.   
  
He straightened his hat and swordbelt.   
  
"How far d'you think we can get?" he asked his mates.   
  
MacDougall and Deschamps exchanged glances.   
  
"Given fair weather," ventured MacDougall, "we might make Cuba in three or four days."   
  
The three men's eyes went up to the sky.   
  
"But a storm could come over, any moment," Deschamps pointed out.   
  
"And if that happens, we're done for," Jack agreed. "Well, we ain't got a lot of choice. We set a course for Cuba, keep close to whatever land there is, and …" he raised his hands to the sky, "hope." The corners of his mouth twitched, but he could not manage a proper smile. "Get the injured settled and below. Extra rum all around. Keep them that are able on deck."   
  
"Aye, cap'n."   
  
"_Oui_." Deschamps' brief acknowledgement of the order told Jack all he needed to know about his first mate's current opinion of him. He nodded, and turning, went below.   
  
Jack was not one given to brooding over mistakes. He had always been of a philosophical mind, the sort of man who turned events to his advantage, or cut his losses cleanly. The loss of the _Black Pearl_, all those years before, had hit him hard - had, indeed, shaped the pirate he was today - but despite being ever on the lookout for a way to regain her from the mutinous Barbossa, he had always tried to remain cheerful and optimistic. At the very least, he had always tried to give the _impression_ of being cheerful and optimistic. He had a reputation to maintain, after all; he was Captain Jack Sparrow.   
  
But in the silence of his cabin, with the broken _Nictaux_ creaking her way to Cuba, he was forced to admit he had this day made a bad mistake. The frigate had been too well armed, too large to take on. He should have turned and run when he saw she was not going to back down from their attack. He had been too concerned about his own reputation and the reputation of his ship to consider the safety of the _Nictaux_ and those aboard her; and crew and vessel had paid a heavy price.   
  
He took off his sword, laying the heavy belt on the table. The compass that did not point north still swung from its cord, as it had done for the past eight years: a reminder of his other great mistake. Jack flipped open the lid and looked at the needle, swinging round, and then with a sigh he closed it. Now was not the time to be nostalgic. Now was the time to get ship and men safe into harbour, before one of the Caribbean's sudden and violent storms hit.   
  
Leaving his cabin he went down to the hold, where three pirates were occupied in pumping out the bilges. They were ankle-deep in seawater.   
  
"Is she emptying?" Jack asked, surveying the work.   
  
"Not really, cap'n." One of the men straightened, wiping his brow with a bare arm. "I reckon we're takin' on water gradual-like. Crack, not a hole."   
  
"Get the carpenter on to it," Jack said. "Good work, lads."   
  
They smiled, briefly, and touched their hands to foreheads before continuing the pumping.   
  
Up on deck, the crew were swabbing away patches of blood from the earlier surgery. Some of them were bandaged themselves, but seemed healthy enough. They greeted Jack cheerfully enough as he crossed to the quarterdeck, where MacDougall was alone at the helm.   
  
"Deschamps?" Jack asked.   
  
"Gone to get some kip," MacDougall said. "Wind's dropping for the evenin'."   
  
"We'll keep pressing on overnight," said Jack. "I'll steer for the next watch, let you and Deschamps rest."   
  
"Aye, cap'n." MacDougall nodded.   
  
Jack gave him a reassuring grin and went off to find the cook and tell him to get some food underway.   
  
The night watch passed uneventfully, the wind remaining light but steady. Alone at the helm, Jack had plenty of time to review recent events in his mind, and to plan the next few days. The priority was of course to find land, and land where a new foremast could be found. Though they had only lost the top half of the mast, the whole thing would have to be replaced. Jack wished he had a length of timber on board that could be used as a jury rig, but there was nothing.   
  
At the end of the watch, Deschamps came on deck.   
  
"_Bonjour, capitaine_."   
  
"_Bonjour_," Jack returned. "Ye're still angry, aren't you?"   
  
Deschamps took the wheel, his eyes lifting to the sails, before he answered.   
  
"You are the captain," he said. "But yes - I suppose I am angry. We did not need that frigate."   
  
"Life's not about what you need," Jack returned. "It's about what you can do. What's possible - savvy?"   
  
"Taking that frigate was not possible," Deschamps said. "She was too big. Her captain, too bold."   
  
"And our captain, too bold too?" said Jack. "Aye. I know." He paused. "Be that as it may be, Mr Deschamps, I am still captain; and I'll do all I can to get this vessel to land in one piece. You know that?"   
  
"I would never doubt that," Deschamps replied. "Any man can make a mistake, even the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow."   
  
Jack grinned, and bowed. "Glad that's settled. Well, I'm to me bunk. Steer her safe, Mr Deschamps."   
  
"_Oui, capitaine_." Deschamps smiled, and Jack went off to catch some sleep moderately content. 


	24. Chapter 24

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_  
  
----  
  
He woke suddenly, lurched into consciousness from a pleasant dream which had involved a hammock, rum, and a girl in very few clothes. The ship was tipping, and wind and rain were lashing at the stern windows.   
  
Jack threw off his blanket, pulled on some clothes, and rushed out on deck.   
  
The storm was raging fiercely. Deschamps had taken in sail, leaving just the mainsail with two reefs, but even so the _Nictaux_ was rushing along, teetering on the brow of a wave before being tossed down into a trough.   
  
"How long's it been going on?" Jack yelled, into his first mate's ear.   
  
"Not long this bad," said Deschamps, hanging on to the helm for dear life with the help of another crewmember.   
  
"You should've got me up earlier," Jack returned, dismissing the crewman and taking hold of the helm too. "What's the hour?"   
  
"Five bells," said Deschamps. "You needed the sleep."   
  
"Still." Jack looked about him. "How's she holding?"   
  
Deschamps, his hair and beard streaming with water, shook his head. "She's not, _capitaine_. We are taking on water below, and above." Another wave crashed over the rail to prove his point. "I do not know how long she will stay afloat."   
  
"Damn it." Jack blinked back rain and salt spray from his eyes. "And what's our position?"   
  
"We had land sighted before the storm began," said Deschamps. "I don't know if that is still close."   
  
"We'd better hope it is," Jack returned, and gave the piercing whistle that would alert the lookout up aloft that someone on deck had need of him. Shortly, the lookout came halfway down the mainmast and they could hold a shouted conversation.   
  
"There might be an island," the lookout volunteered. "But I wouldn't swear to it."   
  
He disappeared back up the mast. Jack looked at Deschamps, who shrugged eloquently and said nothing.   
  
Jack held on to the helm and thought about the situation. The storm showed little sign of abating, and he could feel beneath his feet that the _Nictaux_ was not coping well. She had always been a better fair-weather vessel than a storm rider, unlike the _Black Pearl_ which seemed to positively relish a high wind. Sooner or later, they would lose their sail; the crack below would widen to become a hole, and the ship would go down. Jack was an optimist, but he was also a good sailor. He made his decision.   
  
"Order the boats to be readied," he said to Deschamps. "Get the men up and on deck. They'll have t' travel light, no sentiment, but I'll bring some coin out. We might need it. Ration of biscuit for everyone, cask of fresh water for each boat, some blankets."   
  
Deschamps met his eyes, and after a moment nodded. Soon the chain of command was at work: the mate passing on Jack's orders and the crew looking lively to carry them out. Summoning another man to stay at the helm with Deschamps, Jack went below to strap on his belt - sword, pistol, compass - and find a small chest or two of coins. He tucked a small bag of gold into a pocket for himself, along with a folded chart of Cuba, and took the rest up on deck.   
  
The men were waiting, in coats and hats but with few other belongings. Their faces were set; nobody had any illusions as to their prospects over the next few hours. They were to set out in small boats against a sea that would take down the vessel that had been their home and their livelihood for many long months. It would be a battle against the elements, and the elements could well win.   
  
Jack put down the chests. "Take what you can fit in your pockets," he said. "You've earned it, and more, but we cannot take everything. I'm sorry it's come to this, lads. You've been a good crew. Good luck to you."   
  
Silently, the pirates filled their pockets with coins, and stood ready, waiting. Jack went back to the helm.   
  
"We'll hold on as long as we can," he said to Deschamps. "Let's let her take us as far as she'll go."   
  
"_Oui, capitaine_."   
  
They held on. An hour or two passed, and though the rain lessened a little the wind got stronger. Finally, it happened. An extra powerful gust tore across the ship, ripping the mainsail from its shrouds and sending it spinning overboard. The _Nictaux_ lost speed.   
  
"Lower the boats," Jack said. "Abandon ship."   
  
The men were ready, and obeyed quickly and without argument. As each boat was lowered into the water, the sweeps were unshipped and the pirates pulled quickly, to get away from the stricken _Nictaux_. She was listing badly now to starboard, too much of her hull below the waterline.   
  
Jack sent Deschamps off in the penultimate boat, MacDougall having gone earlier, and waited himself until the last possible moment. He climbed down the rope and into the boat, and the crew pulled away, the small craft surfing the waves. The _Nictaux_, now bereft of her guiding hand, rocked. Waves crashed over her side. Jack sat in the stern of his boat and watched as slowly his ship disappeared below the surface.   
  
They floated, paddling occasionally, for most of the afternoon and into dusk. The men took it in turns to pull and to bale water out of the boat. The other skiffs had gone, disappeared into the ever-changing landscape of water, and Jack just hoped that the rest of his men were all right.   
  
As night fell, the storm finally began to blow itself out, and the waves subsided somewhat.   
  
"D'you know where we are, cap'n?" young Cutlass Mick asked.   
  
Jack squeezed water out of the end of his braid. "Close to Cuba," he said, confidently. "We've food and water, and when we've light there'll be some land." He gave the boat a reassuring smile. "We'll be fine."   
  
"Weren't it round hereabouts you were marooned, cap'n?" someone else said.   
  
"Further south," Jack said vaguely. "Tiny island, that was, tiny. Room just to walk around, get some exercise, not much else."   
  
"What would you have done if you hadn't escaped?" asked Mick, curious.   
  
"I'd never not have escaped," Jack returned. "I wouldn't have shot meself, that's for sure."   
  
One of the other pirates leaned forward. "Josh Gibbs said as how it were some sort o' animal you 'scaped on."   
  
"Did he?" Jack racked his brains to work out where that story had come from, and managed to recall a drunken night in Tortuga. "Aye, he told it aright."   
  
"Turtles, weren't they?"   
  
"That's right, Mick, turtles." Jack grinned at the men, who seemed to be impressed by the tale, and wondered how it had ever taken anyone in. Not that he minded, and at a time like this it was useful to have something to keep the men's spirits up with.   
  
The talk fell on to reminiscing about the _Nictaux_, the men reminding each other about the little ship's peculiarities and characteristics; and the night passed.   
  
When dawn came, the sea was calm and the sky was blue. On the horizon there was a long stretch of dark green, close enough to reach with a day's strong pulling. Jack roused the men, and they set to, swapping in and out of the crew as the day went on so that each man got some rest and some food. The land got closer, and as night fell they were pulling the boat up on to a sandy beach, and safety.   
  
There was general celebration when Jack produced the Cuban chart he had tucked away before leaving the _Nictaux_, and they slept that night around a fire of driftwood and palm leaves. In the morning, after a breakfast of ship's biscuit and coconut milk, Jack led his men along the coast towards the nearest small coastal village marked on the chart. At least some of the _Nictaux_'s crew were safe, and the coins in their pockets would buy them passage to one of the larger ports friendly to buccaneers. Maybe there, they would meet the rest of the men, if they too had made safe landfall.   
  
They split up once they had arrived at the village. Four of the twelve men who had been in Jack's boat announced their intention to head for Nuevitas, the nearest big town, by foot, overland. The rest joined Jack in bartering a journey to Tortuga on a small fishing boat. Jack wanted to return to the port he thought of as the nearest thing he had to home on land as quickly as he could - he felt, somehow, that he owed it to Captain André to inform him of the _Nictaux_'s wreck. It had been many years since the French pirate had gone to sea, but Jack knew how he would feel if the _Black Pearl_ had been lost and nobody told him.   
  
The night the fishing boat arrived at Tortuga, he found André in the 'Faithful Bride', playing cards as usual. But another man was by his side with a mug of ale.   
  
"Jean!"   
  
"_Capitaine_." Deschamps stood up. "_Je suis content de vous voir_."   
  
"Not as happy as I am to see you!" Jack said, shaking his mate's hand. "Didn't know what had become of any of you." He turned to André. "Captain. S'pose Mr Deschamps here has let you have the bad news?"   
  
"Yes." André shuffled the cards together, and looked up at Jack. "I'm sorry for it. But storms happen, and good ships are lost in them. She'd had a long run."   
  
Jack glanced at Deschamps, who offered a smile and pulled out a chair for him.   
  
"She was a lovely ship," Jack said, sitting down and accepting a tankard of grog. "I'll miss her." He raised his mug. "To the _Nictaux_, gentlemen."   
  
"To the _Nictaux_," André said. "Care to join our game, Captain Sparrow?"   
  
Nodding, Jack felt in his pocket and pulled out his bag of coins. "Deal me in."   
  
At the end of the night, André left with most of the winnings, and Deschamps and Jack wandered out into the street, rather the worse for wear.   
  
"You didn't tell 'im 'bout the attack," Jack said, his hand sketching irrelevant circles in the air. "You let old André think it was all a storm, not me makin' a mistake with t' frigate."   
  
Deschamps attempted to straighten his hat. "_Ouais_."   
  
"Why?" asked Jack, determined to get to the bottom of this question.   
  
"_Parce-que_ …" Deschamps stopped walking, and faced Jack, making a visible effort to speak English despite his drunkenness. "Because everyone, _tout le monde_, 'e makes mistakes. Even you. You paint a picture, _une peinture, le célèbre Jack Sparrow_, someone who can do nothing wrong." He focused on Jack, laying a hand on his shoulder. "And so, men find it 'ard to believe you too, you are a man also." He smiled. "A good man. _Un bon capitaine_. I 'ave enjoyed being your first mate."   
  
"I've enjoyed having you on board," said Jack. "_Merci, Jean_."   
  
"_Pas de quoi, Jacques_," Deschamps replied. He nodded, drunkenly. "G'night."   
  
"Night, mate." Jack watched as Deschamps meandered off down the street, and turned himself to go in the other direction. 


	25. Chapter 25

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
  
_----  
  
"It's not that you're not an able seaman," the captain of the _Lizard_ said, apologetically. "Y'are. Able, and a seaman. It's just …" He fidgeted.   
  
"It's what?" Jack prompted.   
  
"Well, I don't need another man, see, and you're a tad … visible, shall we say?" The man nodded, to reinforce his point. "Visible. And what with the Royal Navy gettin' all keen about roundin' us up, I'd rather stay …"   
  
"Invisible," said Jack. "I see. Fine. No hard feelings, mate."   
  
"Good." The captain beamed, released of tension, and shook Jack's hand. "Good. Best o' luck to ye, Cap'n Sparrow."   
  
"Thanks." Jack smiled, tucked his thumbs in his sash, and left the _Lizard_.   
  
He had spent most of the months since the wreck of the _Nictaux_ hopping from one ship to another. At first, he had tried to find another ship to captain, but there were none to be found. So he signed on as a mate aboard a large pirate vessel, but had not got on with the captain. After that, he spent a few weeks aboard a variety of ships - old ones, large ones, battered ones - but never stayed for long. He could not now return to a position of subservience. He tried. But he kept finding things he did not like about the ship or the crew, or the way they were being captained. Jack had had his own way for far too long, and he was frustrated being under another man's command.   
  
Eventually, he had returned to Tortuga, where he was now making one last attempt to find a ship. Circumstances were not conspiring in his favour, though. The pirate community was wary; the British Royal Navy had redoubled their efforts to catch buccaneers, and skeletons swinging from Port Royal's Gallows Point were commonplace. Rumour had it that a young captain, well on his way to being promoted to Commodore, was the prime culprit. Normally Jack would have thumbed his nose at this Captain Norrington, and gone on his merry way, but without a ship …   
  
He sighed, and looked at the next vessel in the harbour. She was a large, elegant ship with 32 guns and good lines. Her captain appeared to be the grizzled man currently examining charts on the quarterdeck, and he looked up as Jack admired the ship.   
  
"Ahoy there."   
  
"Cap'n." Jack nodded at him. "Lovely vessel."   
  
The captain came to the rail and leaned over, looking down at Jack. "I think I heard you were seeking a berth?"   
  
"Aye, I am."   
  
"So happens I'm looking for another man. Hop aboard, will you?"   
  
Jack came up the gangplank and joined the captain on the main deck.   
  
"So you're Jack Sparrow, are ye?" the older man asked. "Heard a bit about you."   
  
"That's right." Jack wondered which of the tales the captain had heard, and what version of the _Nictaux_'s wreck. Just in case it was one of the less flattering ones, he grinned in a reassuring manner.   
  
"They say you're a good sailor."   
  
"They're right," Jack said. No need to be modest about this - he knew very well he was one of the better sailors out of Tortuga. "I'm not expensive, neither. Nor picky. And I'm a good man with a blade to boot."   
  
"And you could sail on the dawn tide?"   
  
"I could sail on the dawn tide," Jack agreed. "No ties. Where're you bound?"   
  
"Here and there," shrugged the captain. "We've no set plans."   
  
"Sounds good to me," said Jack.   
  
The other man started to hold out his hand, but hesitated. "You'd just be an able seaman. I've a full complement of officers. I understand you've had your own vessel some years now …"   
  
"Afore I lost her, aye," Jack said. "But I lost her. For now, all I want is a berth, I'm not askin' for more. I'll be an able seaman if that's what's going."   
  
"Good." They shook hands. "Welcome aboard, Mr Sparrow."   
  
Jack went below to sign the ship's articles, where he learnt the captain's name was Tenby and the ship the _Lavender Sprig_. He was to come aboard that evening, and so he left to bid Tortuga farewell with a last drink.   
  
A week out of port, the _Sprig_ was making good progress. The awesome power of her 32 guns had been unleashed, with a lot of noise and smoke, on an unfortunate Dutch ship, and a goodly amount of loot had been taken. Jack was aloft, keeping watch, and enjoying being high above the blue water below. Taking advantage of being a simple crewman, he had left his boots in his hammock; his sleeves were rolled up and his legs and arms were exposed to the sun. It was a lovely day.   
  
So when the dark cloud began to form on the horizon, Jack found his eyes instantly drawn to it. It got bigger quickly, fog rolling up and about the black epicentre.   
  
Jack frowned. He remembered seeing this before. Pulling out the ship's telescope, he examined the cloud closer, and then snapped the telescope shut and called down to the deck.   
  
"Ship _ho_! Port bow!"   
  
"What ship?" came back the reply.   
  
His eyes set on the shape now growing closer, Jack returned the shout. "The _Black Pearl_!"   
  
There was a pause. Glancing down, he saw a cluster of people talking to Captain Tenby. Shortly, an order was shouted up for him to descend the mast to the deck.   
  
Tenby was by the helm, now looking at the _Black Pearl_ clad in her fog with his own telescope. "Come here, Mr Sparrow," he said, beckoning, and Jack came up to the quarterdeck. "You're certain this is the _Pearl_?"   
  
"That's the _Pearl_," Jack confirmed.   
  
"Once your ship?"   
  
"Still my ship, just not in my hands," Jack said.   
  
"They say she's cursed, cap'n," Tenby's quartermaster put in, with a shiver.   
  
"Is she cursed?" Captain Tenby asked.   
  
"I don't know," said Jack, honestly. "I'll say there's something not right. She never used to be like that."  
  
Tenby flipped open his telescope again. "She has not been well cared for."   
  
"She was, ten years ago," Jack returned. "She could be again." He met Tenby's eyes. "Go after her. Take her. A ship like this one, with this firepower - you could have her, cap'n. Easy."   
  
"Take her for what?"   
  
"Consort. Prize. She'll be loaded. Fastest ship in the Caribbean, ma … cap'n."   
  
"We do not attack fellow pirates, Mr Sparrow," Tenby said severely.   
  
"Barbossa's no fellow pirate," Jack said. "He's a black-hearted mutinous bastard who deserves to swing, savvy? Take her."   
  
"No."   
  
Jack leaned in. "He doesn't obey the Code, why should you? She'll be richly laden. She's a good ship. Take her."   
  
Tenby's face tightened. "_Mr_ Sparrow, I will not take that ship. Kindly return to your post."   
  
"You're missin' a chance," Jack said. "Take her!"   
  
"Return to your post now, Mr Sparrow," said Captain Tenby, "or I'll have ye flogged. Or marooned. Fancy escaping from that, twice?" Jack stepped back, his hands rising, his mouth opening to speak. Tenby shook his head. "Not another word, Sparrow."   
  
Jack closed his mouth, and silently climbed the mainmast to sit once more on lookout. He watched, as the _Black Pearl_ and the _Lavender Sprig_ turned away from each other. The dark shape of the _Pearl_ disappeared, away towards Jamaica, clad in her veil of cloud.   
  
He left the _Sprig_ when she reached the next port, paying Tenby to let him go despite the ship's articles. And then he looked for a vessel that would take him back towards Tortuga, and three weeks after leaving he was back in the pirate stronghold.   
  
The _Black Pearl_ had not been seen in Tortuga, but several men were willing to admit they had sighted her on the horizon. She was certainly in the area, looting and killing as was her wont. Nobody would take Jack to her, however much he wheedled and bribed and beguiled. The legendary Jack Sparrow charm was not working, and eventually he collapsed in a tavern and laid his head down beside his tankard of ale.   
  
"You're not looking good," a voice said from beside him.   
  
"'M not."   
  
"Pining for your ship?" The voice was soft, and undoubtedly feminine. It tugged at Jack's memory, and he turned his head.   
  
"Yes."   
  
"I'm sorry." Anamaria sat down beside Jack. "I've heard she is round about. Heading to Jamaica, Port Royal, the last anyone heard."   
  
Jack lifted his head, and looked at his old friend. "She is. She looks …" He shrugged. "Bad."   
  
Anamaria picked up his tankard, and drank. "_C'est dommage_."   
  
"It's more'n'a shame," Jack said. "It's …" He looked blearily up at Anamaria. "What are you doin' here?"   
  
"I have a boat." She grinned at him, the uncharacteristic smile lighting up her face. "Of my own."   
  
"A boat?"   
  
"A boat." She pushed the tankard towards him. "Want to see?"   
  
He shrugged. "Why not?" He finished the drink. "Lead the way, fair lady."   
  
"Cut out the flattering," Anamaria said, standing up. "She's in the harbour."   
  
Jack followed his old friend through the busy night streets of Tortuga to the harbour, where she showed him a small, neat one-master with a white sail tidily furled. He bent to read the name.   
  
"_Libert_." He straightened, and grinned. "Good name, love."   
  
"I thought you would like it," Anamaria said.   
  
"But what do you _do_ with her?" Jack asked. "You can't raid anythin' with a boat this size - not that she's not an uncommonly nice boat."   
  
Anamaria climbed down into the _Libert_ and tucked a pail away under the centre casing. "She is my freedom," she said. "I run errands, do some deliveries, earn a little money. She's mine. Not many men will take a woman in their crew."   
  
"Then they're bloody fools." Jack held out a hand, and helped her back on to the quayside. "But she's a sweet little craft."   
  
For once, she let him tuck his arm around her waist, and he guided her back towards the hub of the town. He bought the rum, and got Anamaria talking about what she had been doing for the last year or so. She drank, and talked, and he drank too and talked also, and so the evening passed. At one point Anamaria said that she should be getting back to her aunt's, where she was staying, but Jack bought another round of drinks and persuaded her to stay. When his friend's eyelids drooped and she looked fit to collapse under the table, he went to the bar and paid for a room for the night.   
  
Anamaria protested weakly as he draped her arm over his shoulder and hauled her upstairs, but she collapsed on to the bed happily enough. Jack pulled off her boots and stood them by the washstand in the corner.   
  
He looked down at her. Her hair had come loose at some point and lay over her shoulders, dark and glossy; and her skin looked temptingly healthy. Fighting back an urge to give in to physical desire, Jack bent and brushed back a lock of hair from Anamaria's eyes.   
  
"I'll bring her back," he said, leaving a coin or two inside the boots. And then he turned, and went out into the night.   
  
The wind was fresh, but not too strong for a little boat, and the _Libert_ rode the evening waves well. Jack set the sail, and settled down with the tiller at his side. Humming a little tune, he turned the boat towards Jamaica, and the _Black Pearl_. It had been a long ten years, but he felt certain that some day soon he and his vessel would be reunited.   
  
"Not much longer, love," he said, out to the ocean. "I'm coming for you."   
  
He rested his hand on the tiller, feeling the rush of the boat under his fingers, and smiled. Not long now.  
  
THE END  
  
----  
  
_**Author's note**: Er. Yes. Sorry, that happened quicker than I originally intended. But that's it, that's the end, and you know what happens next!  
  
_Libert_ is of course the French for 'freedom'.  
  
Many, many, many thanks to every single person who has reviewed this story. Your comments have meant a great deal. Particular thanks to the wonderful crew of the 'Black Pearl Sails' yahoogroup. I've enjoyed writing this, I hope you've enjoyed reading it even half as much.  
  
Now, bring me that horizon ..._


End file.
